


All Roads Lead to You

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Bottom Sam, Canon Compliant, Canon Era, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Cassie Robinson/Dean Winchester, Implied Dean/others, Implied Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Implied M/F, Implied Madison/Sam Winchester, Implied/Referenced Underage, M/M, Oral Sex, Past Cassie Robinson/Dean Winchester, Sibling Incest, Smut, Stanford Era, Swearing, Top Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-08-29 05:55:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 39,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8477836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Sam is no stranger to plans gone askew. He was 14 when he realized that he was in love with his brother, and 18 when he decided that leaving for Stanford was better than risking being found out. Dean has always been able to throw a wrench into his plans, so what should have been a clean break turns into a night of confessions, years of heartbreak, and a struggle to find out if things can be fixed when they continue to get broken over and over again.





	1. Sam's Orion

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2016 Wincest Big Bang on Tumblr. 
> 
> A million and one thanks to my amazing beta fourth-of-foxes, who worked with me through fifty trillion rough drafts! We made a beautiful piece of work, even if there were days we probably made each other wanna rip our hair out!  
> And a million and one thanks also to my amazing artist, selecasharp, who created some of the most beautiful art I have ever seen for this fic. Above and beyond is an understatement for all the amazing, creative effort that this artist put into this fic and I couldn’t feel more blessed.

 

 **October 20** **th** **, 2002 (Sam’s age: 19)**

Sam looked up at the night sky, lying back on the rough roof of his dorm building and thinking about the stories Dean used to tell about the stars, specifically a string called Orion’s Belt.

 

Orion was a hunter, just like their dad and themselves were hunters. Sam had always felt connected to Orion, but now the sight of those three stars made him ache deep down. He wasn’t a hunter anymore; he’d run away from his family and the Orion of Dean’s stories would never do that. Of course, the Orion of Dean’s stories wasn’t in love with his brother either.

 

 **September 25** **th** **, 1997 (Sam’s age: 14)**

 _Dean’s hands were hot and calloused against Sam’s bare skin as he tugged his shorts off and tossed them to the floor. Sam whined, arching his hips into the air. “De_ — _” He was panting, the complete opposite of Dean’s calm and steady breath on his stomach._

 

_“Gonna be so good for you, Sammy.”_

 

_“It’s Sam,” he rasped, running his fingers through Dean’s hair. Dean’s laugh vibrated down Sam’s body and straight to his groin._

 

_“Sam,” Dean corrected, then repeated, “Sam.”_

 

_“What?” Sam groaned as he saw sparks behind his closed lids._

 

“Sam!”

 

Sam’s eyes snapped open to the dark room and he searched for the source of the voice, panicking until he found Dean sitting beside him on their shared bed with his face set into a scowl.

 

“What, Dean?” Sam asked, trying to scrub the dream away as he rubbed his sleep heavy eyes.

 

“You were moaning, dude. I thought you were hurt.”

 

Sam glanced down and his cheeks flushed when he saw the small rise in the blanket. He knew Dean would tease him endlessly if he saw it, so he flipped to his stomach and bunched the pillow under his head.

 

“Nightmare. Go back to sleep,” he whispered. Even without looking he could feel Dean staring at him, but there was no way he was going to glance back up at Dean. He was absolutely mortified, waking up next to his brother with a hard on was the least arousing thing he could have imagined. Dean had hit puberty at twelve, and Sam been forced to listen to the story of his first wet dream so many times he had it memorized. Twelve years hit for Sam, then thirteen, but Sam still hadn’t had his own dreams. He was beginning to think he’d never have the type of dream Dean had gushed about, even though he’d been able to get an erection for years. It just wasn’t the same.

 

But tonight—this dream wasn’t anything like Dean had described. It was supposed to be a woman, wasn’t it? Sam gripped the pillow a little tighter as Dean silently wiggled back down under the blankets. Dean had made it clear that he was too old to share a bed with Sam, and had been for a few years now, but their dad was back from his hunt and Dean had lost the fight for his own sleeping space.

 

So, of course, _tonight,_ when he was stuck next to Dean and their dad was snoring in the next bed, had to be the night of his first dream. He couldn’t deal with the pressing need he now had, couldn’t even stay up to analyze what it could possibly mean. What could he really analyze anyway? Dreaming about his brother was just wrong, laughable even. Dean would hate him forever if he found out, and Sam shuddered to think about what his dad would do to him. With a reserved sigh, he shut his eyes and tried to will himself to have a dreamless sleep.

 

 

 **October 20** **th** **, 2002 (Sam’s age: 19)**

Sam climbed down from the roof of the dorm room and slid into his single room. After closing the window and latching it, he tugged his jeans off and crawled into the dorm bed, settling under fresh black sheets and bunching the pillow under his head. Staring at the white ceiling only afforded so much joy, so he looked over at the only thing hanging on his white walls: a small photograph of himself and Dean at his high school graduation three months before he told his father and brother about his intention to ‘run away’. No, leave for school. Running away was his dad’s phrasing, while Dean—well, Dean had been the worst part of that night.

 

 

 **August 15** **th** **, 2002 (Sam’s age: 19)**

“Whatcha doin’, Sammy?”

 

Sam tensed at Dean’s familiar voice. “It’s Sam. And I’m packing.”

 

“Why? We’re here for another three days at least.”

 

“I’m not staying.”

 

Dean snorted and approached him, jumping onto the bed. He began to pull clothes out of the bag as Sam shoved them in.

 

“Come on, what’s wrong? You and Dad fight again?” he asked, scowling when Sam yanked a t-shirt out of his grip and stuffed it into the bag.

 

“No, Dean… I’m leaving. I’m going to school.”

 

Dean’s face darkened. “And how are you gonna do that, Sammy? Huh? With what money? How will you get there?”

 

“Dean, don’t get mad.” Sam whispered, hearing the change in Dean’s voice. “I—I got a full ride. My grades were good enough. They accepted me at Stanford.”

 

“California?!” Dean shot up from the bed. “No! You aren’t going!”

 

“You can’t stop me, Dean.”

 

“Like hell I can’t! Dad won’t let you, and neither will I. You can’t leave us.” Dean crossed his arms like a petulant child. Sam turned, ready to shout, but upon seeing Dean, his gaze softened. He couldn’t stay mad, not really. He could never stay mad at Dean.

 

“De—“

 

“Don’t. Fine. Leave. See if I give a shit.” Dean turned to go and Sam grabbed his wrist, pulling Dean back to him, glad that a growth spurt over summer had brought him up to Dean’s eye level.

 

“I’m not running from you, Dean. I promise. I just… I need to do this.”

 

“Do what? Abandon us?” Dean’s voice cracked and he ducked his head, but Sam saw traces of pain that remained in his bright green eyes.

 

“I’d never abandon you, De. I love you.”

 

“Stop being a girl.” Dean shoved him away then hesitated, still staring at the toes of his scuffed boots. “When are you leaving?”

 

“Tonight. That’s why I’m packing.”

 

Dean nodded, leaning heavily on the wall. “Do you—think you’ll be back? After school?”

 

Sam stayed quiet long enough that Dean looked up at him and sighed.

 

“I could come with you.”

 

“No!” Sam knew he spoke a little too quickly when he saw the brief agony that passed over  Dean’s face. “I just—you love hunting. You’d go nuts without it, and Dad won’t ever let you go. Me, it’s no big loss for him, I suck at this job anyway.”

 

“No, you don’t, Sammy,” Dean said sternly.

 

“It’s Sam,” he responded.

 

Dean stood straight. “Well, you need any help packing?”

 

“I’d like that.”

 

As they silently packed Sam’s things, he couldn’t help but spend as much time as possible looking at Dean. He’d come to the realization that he loved him as more than a sibling a long time ago, had hoped it would go away or prove to be just overexposure and too much time together, but the love had only grown. It was physically painful for Sam now when Dean came home with hickeys, or worse, a girl on his arm. He knew he could never be honest with Dean. It was a secret he’d take to his grave… Sam knew he could handle the physical attack he’d probably get if Dean ever found out, but Dean would never speak to him again, and that was worse. This way, leaving for Stanford, this was better. He’d stay on good terms with Dean, and he hoped spending time away from him would turn this unhealthy love into a thing of the past.

 

Sam zipped his duffel after stuffing the last shirt into it and looked to Dean. “I gotta tell Dad.”

 

“Want me with you?” Dean offered as he set his hand on Sam’s shoulder. Sam nodded, leaning into the touch until he realized what he was doing. He jerked back and cleared his throat, standing straight before passing his bag to Dean. With a final glance at him, Sam walked into the main room where John was writing furiously in his journal.

 

“Dad?” Sam asked hesitantly, voice cracking.

 

John stopped, looking up at him. “What do you need, Sam?”

 

Sam cleared his throat and looked behind him to where Dean stood in the doorway. The pain was still visible on the Dean’s face, but he gave a nod. Sam stepped forward and placed a pamphlet for Stanford University over the journal. “I’m going to college.”

 

John looked at the pamphlet before pushing it to the side. “Yeah, someday, I’m sure you will.”

 

“No, Dad,” he said before his father could turn his attention back to the journal. “I’m leaving tonight. I’ve been accepted to Stanford, with a full ride. An academic scholarship. I’ve got the bus ticket and everything. So, this is goodbye.”

 

Sam saw John staring at him, waiting for him to back down or show some sign of cracking, but Sam stood steady until John’s eyes flitted to where Dean was standing behind Sam in the shadows. “Did you know about this?”

 

“Just found out tonight,” Dean said, shrugging.

 

John stood up slowly. “Don’t try this shit tonight, Sam. You can’t go to school yet, not with your mother’s killer still out there. Look at what Dean and I are after this week.” He passed the journal to Sam. His face was stoic but there was a hint of what could only be described as agony in his brown eyes. Sam looked down at the journal where a rudimentary drawing of some nightmare creature was titled as a skinwalker.

 

“Looks easy to kill, I’ve read they’re similar to werewolves,” Sam said on instinct. John nodded.

 

“You’d be right, but we’ll need help. Now, go to bed, we’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

 

“No. I’m leaving.” Sam backed up then and grabbed his duffel bag from Dean before turning and facing John again. “I’m going tonight and you aren’t stopping me. I want to be normal. I want to live a normal life. It’s what Mom would have wanted.”

 

“You don’t know what your mother would have wanted!” John yelled, and both sons cringed. “This is your life, Sam!”

 

“I don’t want this life!” Sam snapped, stepping forward again. “I want to be normal! I’m going to be normal! And you can’t stop me!”

 

John stood straighter, an intimidating figure for both boys even though they were nearly equal to his height by now. “You walk out that door, don’t you ever come back.”

 

Sam stared at his father, the words cutting straight to the pit of his stomach. He looked at Dean, surprised to see his hero holding back tears. “I—“

 

“Go, Sammy,” Dean mouthed. Sam closed his eyes, a tear spilling down his cheek. He turned back to his father, taking a deep breath.

 

“I’m not sorry,” he whispered, then turned and walked out with his duffel bag in hand.

 

Sam walked a few blocks toward the bus station before he heard the telltale sound of feet pounding behind him. He reached into his pocket and snagged the pocket knife resting at the bottom of it.

 

“Sammy!” Dean’s voice pushed his concern aside, and he turned. His heart leapt into his throat at the sight of Dean, racing after him.

 

“Dean?”

 

The hug was unexpected. Dean rarely hugged Sam anymore, especially not like this. It was rib cracking, breathtakingly tight, and Sam was lifted a few inches off the ground. The motion caused Sam to drop his duffel to the dirty sidewalk before he wrapped his long arms around Dean’s neck. Damp began seeping through the fabric of his shirt—Dean the hero, the brave stone warrior that never showed emotion—his Orion—was crying.

 

Sam squeezed tighter when Dean let his feet drop back to the sidewalk, refusing to loosen the hug even when Dean’s arms relaxed.

 

“I could go with you,” Dean whispered again. “We could go together. Find a way.”

 

“No, De.” Sam stepped back as he spoke, but wrapped his fingers around Dean’s wrist. “You can’t come with me.”

 

“Why not? I’ve been taking care of you for years, Sammy, why can’t I now?”

 

“Because I need to be away from you.” The words acted like a punch and Dean stepped backward, pulling his arm out of Sam’s hand.

 

“Away from me?” he asked, his sadness turning to anger quickly. “What did I ever do to you?!”

 

“Nothing, Dean. Don’t be mad.”

 

“Why not?! Huh? Why do you need to run away from me?! I’ve taken care of you your whole life!”

 

“That’s the problem.” Dean stopped short and stared at Sam. “I didn’t want to say anything, De. I wanted to leave without you knowing. But… I need to be away from you. I need to let you live your own life.”

 

“You are my life, Sam.”

 

“Shut up, let me get this out.” Sam held up a hand, staring at his dirty sneakers. “You know we don’t have a normal relationship,” he said, “and I don’t think you know how much of a freak I am.”

 

Dean opened his mouth to argue, but Sam shook his head. “And I don’t want you to know. I just… I need you to trust me, okay? Trust me when I say you don’t want me around. You’d hate me if you knew the details, and I don’t want that, so… Just… Go back to Dad.”

 

“But, Sam—“

 

“No, Dean. Go, please. I—I gotta catch my bus.” He grabbed his duffel and turned, hiding the tears that refused to be pushed away any longer.

 

When Dean wouldn’t walk away, Sam turned and walked away, scared Dean would try to stop him again—he wouldn’t be strong enough to resist a second time. But Dean didn’t follow. When Sam finally looked back, he saw his Dean’s back fading into the shadows.


	2. You Came

**January 24** **th** **, 2003 (Sam’s age: 19)**

“Sam!” Sam looked up from his untouched plate of food and over at his friend Luis.

 

“What?” he asked after a second.

 

“You didn’t hear me calling you, man?”

 

“No, sorry.”

 

Luis scowled and sat across from him in the busy lunchroom. “You’ve been off all day. And you still haven’t answered me about that party tonight.”

 

“Sorry, Luis. I don’t really feel like going.”

 

“Come on, Sam. You never know if there’ll be a cute girl there,” Luis teased.

 

“No, I got a lot of homework tonight. Thanks, though.”

 

Sam rose from the table before Luis could pressure him any further.

 

“I’ll catch you around,” he called, raising his hand in salutation and ducking out of the cafeteria.

 

Back in the dorm room, the tension in Sam’s shoulders left as he flopped onto his bed. He hated lying to his friends, especially ones that were so understanding like Luis, but today wasn’t a day for socialization. No, today was a day for remembering—missing.

 

Dean, wherever he was, if he was still alive even, was twenty-four today. They hadn’t spoken since that fateful night, the night he left his family, left hunting, to try and be a normal person. It was working, for the most part. He’d made friends, was doing well in his classes and in his on-campus job, and things seemed to be looking up. But, even though it had been nearly six months, Sam couldn’t shake the feeling of loss. It was the feeling that a part of his heart and his soul were missing, like they were parts that he had left with Dean when he’d turned his back and ran.

 

Sam spun his phone between his hands, considering calling, saying happy birthday, saying anything, really… But Dean hadn’t contacted him; he had no way of knowing if the number was even the same or if Dean wanted anything to do with him. Sam assumed that Dean hated him for his parting words—it was the most likely reaction from Dean. So, instead, Sam tossed his phone onto the mini-fridge and curled up under the covers, staring at the last photo they took together and letting his sorrow wash over him.

 

Sam was working on homework when his phone buzzed three hours later. He ignored it, thinking whoever it was could leave a voicemail, but the caller was insistent, calling back over and over. Finally, Sam sighed and rolled over, snatching the phone and answering it without looking at the caller ID.

 

“Hello?”

 

There was a long silence before the person on the other end finally spoke up, “ _Heya, Sammy_.”

 

Sam’s entire body went cold. “De—Dean?” he stuttered.

 

Dean’s laugh filled his ear. “ _Yeah, it’s me, Sam. How’re you doing_?”

 

“Why are you calling, Dean?”

 

“ _I was waiting for you to call, wish me a happy birthday or somethin’… When you didn’t, I decided to call you up. If I interrupted something, I’m sorry, I’ll let you go_.”

 

“No! No. You didn’t interrupt anything, you just… haven’t talked to me since I left. I figured you didn’t want anything to do with me.”

 

“ _Why would you think that, Sammy_?”

 

“Because of what I said and how we left things.”

 

“ _How we left things, Sam? We didn’t leave things, you ran away mid-conversation. Now, where’s your place? I’ve been wandering around this campus for about an hour and I’m totally lost._ ”

 

Sam shot up. “You’re here?! At Stanford? Where?”

 

“ _Um… I’m by... Some big building. I have no idea_.”

 

Sam tugged on his sneakers before he spoke again, “All the buildings are big, De. What’s the name on it?”

 

There was another long pause as Sam tugged on his jacket. “ _Um… I think. Florence Moore Hall_?”

 

Sam froze in his dressing. “How the hell did you get down there, dude? Are you near your car?”

 

“ _No, I’ve been walking for like forty-five minutes. I wanted to find you, surprise you, but uh… This is like a mini city, Sam._ ”

 

“Just… Okay, do you remember where you parked?”

 

He heard a rustling as he stepped out of his room. “ _Yeah, I got a pass thingy um… Stanford Humanities Center_?”

 

“Okay, you are lost. Do you see Mayfield Avenue?” Sam asked as he forced his legs to move. They were dead weight, his nerves running rampant now that he knew Dean was so close.

 

“ _Hold on_ .” Sam could hear the frustration in Dean’s voice. “ _Dude, how do you get to your classes on time?_ ”

 

“Most of my classes are in the same area. And a map helps when you’re new. Are you on Mayfield?”

 

“ _No… Wait, yes. Okay. Now, which way_?”

 

“Do you see the lake in one direction?”

 

“ _You live by a lake? Jesus Christ, Sam, how much is this school_?”

 

“No, go the opposite way of the lake, east. And the school isn’t cheap. Just walk along the road until it bends after Xanadu.”

 

“ _Xanadu? Sam, you’re making no sense_!”

 

Sam sighed patiently. “Just… Stay where you are then, okay? I’ll find you, it’ll take me about ten minutes.”

 

Dean stayed silent, then heaved a big sigh of his own. “ _Fine. I’ll call if you’re not here in fifteen_.”

 

“Dean, the campus is safe.”

 

Dean muttered something unintelligible and hung up.

 

As soon as Sam managed to drop his cell phone into his pocket, he took off in a sprint toward the residence hall that had never seemed so far away.

 

Sam’s breath, already short, punched out of him when he stopped a few feet from Dean, who was just as he remembered: tall and dangerous with a faded leather jacket and a duffel bag slung over his back. Dean turned.

 

“Sammy,” Dean said, straightening up. Sam rushed up to him, hugging him tightly. Dean coughed and patted Sam’s back before pushing him

an arm’s length away, looking him up and down. “Jesus, what’ve they been feeding you here? You’re taller than me now!”

 

Sam laughed when he realized that he was looking down at Dean instead of up at him. “I guess I am… How’ve you been, Dean? What have you

been doing?”

 

Dean shrugged. “Just hunting. Come on, take me back to your place. I wanna see the place I’ve been trying to find for an hour.”

 

Sam nodded. “Alright, come on. It’s small, though, just a bed and a desk.”

 

“So this is where you’ve been for six months, huh?” Dean turned and walked an even pace with Sam as they headed back down the street.

 

“Yep… This is Stanford,” Sam said, staring at the sidewalk passing under his feet. Now that the initial excitement of Dean’s arrival had worn off,

he felt awkward and unsure about what to say or how to act.

 

“So, what do you do for fun around here?” Dean continued the questioning.

 

“Just study, mostly. I mean there’s parties and stuff, but I don’t go to them. I go to class and work and study.”

 

“Work? You got a job?”

 

Sam nodded. “Yeah, I work at the campus bookstore.”

 

“Doesn’t surprise me. Book nerd.”

 

The silence stretched longer this time until Sam dug in his wallet for his key card. He opened the door to the dorms and held it.

 

“Go ahead,” he said but kept his eyes on the ground. Dean entered, looking around.

 

“It’s set up like a hotel,” Dean commented.

 

“It’s nice, though.”

 

“You got a roommate?”

 

“No, I got a single. I guess after, you know, nineteen years of being around you, I needed privacy.”

 

“So which one’s yours?”

 

“Straight up the stairs,” Sam said, opening another door to a set of stairs.

 

“Jesus, no wonder you look so good, all this walking,” Dean said as he began to climb the steps.

 

“Want me to carry your bag, you big pansy?” Sam teased.

 

“No. I got it.”

 

“Why do you have a duffel bag anyway?”

 

“Well, you’re still nineteen, so I figured you didn’t have any beer, and it’s my birthday. I’m gonna celebrate right.”

 

“Then why are you with me? Not like we can go out, I don’t have any girlfriends you can have your way with.”

 

Dean stopped at the top of the stairs and turned, an unreadable expression on his face, “Because I’ve spent every birthday with you since I was

five, Sammy. It’s tradition.”

 

Sam looked at his feet, feeling guilty for hoping. “Oh… Okay… By the way, it’s Sam. No one calls me Sammy.” He pushed past Dean and

stepped onto his floor, walking down the hall before stopping and unlocking his door. Only then did he look at Dean, who was standing in the

doorway. “You comin’?”

 

“Do you want me here, Sam?” Dean asked.

 

“Come into my room, please?” Sam begged, knowing how sound traveled in these halls; he didn’t want to risk anyone overhearing them.

 

Dean followed Sam’s trail, stepping into the small room. Sam flipped on the lamp and sat on his desk. “Uh, I got ice in the fridge over there,”

he said, pointing to the mini fridge.

 

“So when are you gonna move in?” Dean asked, sticking his head in the fridge to dig out ice cubes.

 

“What d’you mean?” Sam replied as he fished in his desk drawer for a couple of glasses.

 

“There’s nothing in here, man,” Dean said, rising and moving next to Sam. He brushed their shoulders together, seemingly by accident. The

simple motion, however, made Sam’s breath catch in his throat. He moved a few inches away from Dean, passing him one of the glasses to fill.

Dean scowled but set to work.

 

“So… Do you want me here, Sam?” Dean repeated after they’d both been sitting in silence for a while sipping on their drinks.

 

“What? I—“ Sam paused, staring into his glass.

 

“Dude, if you didn’t want me to come, you shoulda said something.”

 

“You were kinda already here.”

 

“You want me to go?”

 

“No, no, I… You’re fine. I mean, it’s not a big deal.”

 

“What isn’t?” Sam looked over at Dean, who had sprawled out on his bed.

 

“That you’re here.”

 

“You sure? ‘Cause it seems like a big deal.” Sam didn’t answer, instead he stood up and grabbed another beer before sitting back at his desk.

 

“Sam, you know, I can’t stop thinking about the night you left,” Dean said.

 

“Yeah? What about it?”

 

“What you said to me. That I wouldn’t wanna be around you if I knew the truth… That I’d hate you.” Dean sat up, his feet dangling off the tall

bed, “I could never hate you, Sammy. Not ever. You’re—you’re my baby brother. I’ve taken care of you since you were six months old. I’ve

changed your diapers, taught you to walk… Hell, I gave you the friggin’ sex talk.”

 

Sam smiled weakly, his head still hanging as Dean continued speaking. “I can’t hate you, ever, because you’re my family.”

 

“That’s exactly why you’d hate me, Dean.” Sam’s voice was barely above a whisper, but it was laced with emotion. “Because family doesn’t think

the way I do about us.”

 

The silence was heavy and long between the two after Sam spoke. Sam picked at a hole in his jeans, terrified that Dean would press or figure it

out on his own. What a great way to ruin his birthday.

 

“Why don’t you let me be the decider on that, huh, Sam? Instead of guessing I’ll just hate you, why don’t you let me hear it?”

 

“Goddamnit, Dean… Please don’t do this.”

 

“I’m doing it, Sam. We’re doing it. Right now. I hate the way you left me that night, and I’m tired of searching in your stupid words to find the

reason! So tell me what you’re running from!”

 

“You!” Sam snapped when Dean began to yell. He stood up, his eyes red-rimmed. “You, you idiot!” He crossed the small room in two strides

and grabbed fistfuls of Dean’s shirt before giving him a little shake. “I’m running to keep you safe because I don’t know if I can keep my hands

off you. I look at you and see you naked. I see you laugh and image you moaning. I see you smile and can’t stop thinking about what it’d feel

like to have you kiss me. Don’t you get it? Huh? You idiot, I’m in love with you and it’s sick and it’s wrong and I hate myself for it.”

 

Sam’s voice finally broke and he released Dean’s shirt, backing up and wiping his eyes, batting away tears that hadn’t fallen yet. “Just go, Dean.

Go and don’t come back, please, for your own good.”

 

“Sam.”

 

“No! Dean! Please!” He looked at Dean again, his eyes pleading. “I can’t put myself through this again. I—I was just getting over you,” he lied.

Dean stayed where he was, though, only moving to flatten the pieces of his shirt that Sam had bunched up.

 

“I’m not going anywhere, Sammy.” Dean’s voice was gentle, taking Sam off guard.

 

“Why not?” he whispered, his voice sounded miles away, choked with tears. When Dean slid off the bed, he backed against the wall, but Dean

continued to approach him until Sam raised his arms in preparation of some form of physical assault.

 

Dean grabbed his arms and shoved them down, then reached up to wipe Sam’s cheeks. “Stop crying, you big baby,” he said without any anger

in his voice. He was smiling, Sam realized.

 

“Wh—“

 

“You had your rant, now sit down and shut up, and let me talk.” Dean fisted Sam’s shirt, pulling him forward and turning them, pushing him

into his desk chair. “Look, Sam… I get why you hid this. I do.”

 

“Because I’m a freak.”

 

“You are. But not for this. I don’t hate you, Sam. Look, we were raised in a really friggin’ messed up way. Always on the road, we had nobody

but each other. I mean, it’s kinda expected.”

 

“You never had this problem,” Sam muttered.

 

“Says who?”

 

His head shot up, meeting Dean’s gaze. “But—“

 

“I never mentioned anything? I was always chasing skirts? Go ahead, give me a list of reasons I couldn’t have pictured screwing the life outta

my baby brother, and I’ll give a list of reasons why I hid it. The main ones being probably pretty similar to yours… My brother is gonna hate

me, and my dad is gonna hate me, right?”

 

“So, you… Wanted me?”

 

“No. I mean I had thoughts, found myself jacking off to it every now and then, and dreams… But I never really thought about… You know.”

 

“About loving me that way.” Sam filled in and Dean shrugged.

 

“I guess, yeah…”

 

Sam looked at the floor between his feet, unsure of what to say.

 

“So, what do we do now?” Dean asked, leaning his hip on the desk.

 

Sam took a deep breath and rose, grabbing the bottle of whiskey that Dean had in his duffel. “We celebrate your birthday. We drink. Maybe

climb up on the roof, look at the stars like we used to… Remember that?”

 

“I remember. You loved the stories about the stars.”

 

“I barely remember them now,” Sam admitted.

 

“So how do you get on the roof from this place?” Dean asked, looking around. Sam smiled widely and tossed the bottle to him.

 

“Come on. Through the window.” Sam pushed open his window and popped the screen out with practiced ease. “Be careful, the center brick

here is a little loose,” he warned as he slid out the window, shoulders first. Then, standing on the sill, with his hands snagging the roof, he

hoisted himself up and over. Adjusting so he wouldn’t roll off the edge, Sam shifted and leaned over, hanging his arm down. “Bottle,” he

instructed Dean, who passed it up before following out and onto the roof.

 

When they were both up, Sam led them higher to the peak of the roof where they could rest their backs against two close-seated faux chimney

stacks.

 

“Gorgeous, huh?” he asked, looking around. Dean took in the view, a smile curving his own lips.

 

“It is. This can’t be legal.”

 

“It’s not really, but the RAs don’t mind as long as you don’t have too many people up here.”

 

“RA?”

 

“Resident Assistant… Kinda the Den Mother of the dorm.” Sam explained as he opened the bottle. He took a long drink before passing it to

Dean. “Mine’s a Junior named Zack, he’s a nice guy.”

 

“Oh yeah? Nice? Or _nice_?” Dean teased before taking a drink of his own.

 

Sam rolled his eyes. “Just nice. And straight as an arrow.”

 

“So tell me, Sammy,” Dean said, his eyes on the stars above them, “Do you swing both ways?”

 

“Yeah. I mean, I prefer guys, but I don’t mind girls… And it’s Sam.”

 

“Is that why you didn’t date much in high school?”

 

Sam grunted an affirmative, taking the bottle back. “How about you?” he asked after a drink.

 

Dean was quiet. “I don’t know what I like. I mean chicks are great. I’ve never actually had sex with a dude. I mean, thought about it, a lot… But

never found the right guy that wasn’t a total creep. Or that wouldn’t want me to bottom.”

 

Sam slid down a little against the stack. “You look like a bottom,” he teased.

 

“Oh, bullshit! I’d be a top one hundred percent,” Dean defended, kicking Sam in the calf.

 

Sam dropped his gaze from the stars to Dean’s face, surprised that his own loving expression was mirrored in Dean’s eyes. It changed once

their gazes met, however, and Dean looked back up.

 

“Hey, looks like Orion is out,” he commented, pointing off in the distance.

 

Sam found where he was pointing and smiled. “It is… You remember his story?”

 

“Course I do. You made me tell it to you a hundred times.”

 

“Make it a hundred and one?” Sam asked, turning his head to meet Dean’s eyes. Dean smiled.

 

“Sure, Sam. Gimme that bottle.” He took a drink before beginning, shifting so he was sitting up off the stack, balanced on the ridge of the roof,

closer to Sam.

 

“Orion was a hunter… Just like Dad.” Dean finally began, his eyes on the constellation as he spoke. “Just like us, too. Brave and strong, nothing

could scare Orion. He was a warrior. Someone that you could really look up to.”

 

As he spoke, Sam’s gaze was placed to the stars, drawing the image of Orion in his brain, like tracing the dots in a coloring book. “Orion, see,

he fell in love with a prince. And the prince’s father was so angry that he made a deal with a god to blind Orion.”

 

Sam’s head whipped around. He may not remember the story very well, but he knew for certain that Dean never told it with a gay hero. Dean

was much closer now, his chest nearly touching Sam’s bent knees. He smiled when Sam met his gaze, and brought his free hand up from his

own thigh, pushing Sam’s knees slightly apart to move closer. Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Dean grabbed his t-shirt and pulled him

forward before hesitating for a brief moment.

 

The hesitation was only a second, but it was an eternity to Sam. The stars reflected in Dean’s eyes, brightening the greens he’d looked into so

often when he was younger. The smattering of freckles he used to count seemed to be even more numerous since they’d last seen each other.

Dean’s breath warmed his cheeks and drew attention to the perfect red lips he’d dreamed of kissing for so many years.

 

Dean closed the gap between their mouths and stilled Sam’s thoughts—along with his heart—for a moment. Dean’s kiss was everything he’d

dreamed about for five years. Whiskey and hops, smoky and minty, a taste so uniquely Dean that it filled—overflowed—every cell in Sam’s

body.

 

Sam reacted a second later, bringing his shaking hand up to touch Dean’s cheek. He ran his thumb over the thin smattering of scruff, his other

hand resting on Dean’s thigh.

 

They separated only when the need to breathe was too strong; it took a few seconds longer for Sam to open his eyes. When he did, he saw

Dean watching him with an expression that could only be described as reverent. Sam’s entire face reddened and he let out an involuntary

laugh. Dean smirked and leaned back, taking a swill of the whiskey.

 

“Come ‘ere,” Dean mumbled, leaning on the opposite stack and patting the ground between his thighs.

 

Sam moved where he patted and rested his head on Dean’s chest. He could hear Dean’s steady heartbeat; it was a drumbeat etched into Sam’s

memory as far back as infancy. Sam couldn’t help but admire the stoicism of his brother, calm even in the face of unspeakable odds or

unbelievable situations.

 

Dean wrapped his arms around Sam’s shoulders, handing him the bottle. “So this God, he blinds Orion, which makes it so he can’t hunt

anymore, and the prince he loved so dearly cannot marry him… He runs away and asks a wise man how to save his eyes. The oracle tells him to

go east until he meets the rising sun, only the rays of the sun can cure his blindness. He does, and when the rays struck his eyes he regained

his eyesight, but he had been traveling so long that returning to his prince was impossible.

 

“He found Artemis and Apollo, the twins.”

 

Sam felt his eyes getting heavier as Dean spoke. He longed to finish listening, curious if Dean would change the story once more but found

sleep too welcoming. His head lolled to the side as he relaxed.

 

“Come on, let’s get you to bed.” Dean’s voice startled Sam awake. Sam rubbed his eyes and nodded, sitting up. “Can you manage to climb

down while you’re this tired?” Dean, ever the protector, sounded worried.

 

Sam nodded, “Yeah, I fall asleep up here all the time.” He shifted off Dean’s lap and began to climb down.

 

Dean grabbed his elbow. “Lemme go first so I can help.”

 

Sam smiled but relented. Dean nodded and climbed down, sliding through the window before hanging his body out and motioning Sam down,

who jumped down into the room. Dean caught him before he could stumble. Sam backed out of Dean’s arms to put the screen back in, and

shut the window while Dean tugged the blankets on the bed and began to strip out of his coat and shirts.

 

“You’re staying?” Sam asked as he watched.

 

“Yeah, I figure it’ll be easier to search for my car in the daylight.”

 

Sam nodded. “Okay.” He moved to his closet, digging around and pulling out a stack of blankets.

 

“What’re you doing?” Dean asked, sitting at the desk to take off his boots.

 

“I’m making a mat to sleep.”

 

Dean scowled and rose, taking the blankets. “Too good to share a bed with your big brother?”

 

“No—I mean… It’s a small bed,” Sam stuttered, and Dean sighed before he shook his head and pushed the blankets back into the closet,

closing it.

 

“Just, undress and get into bed, you idiot,” Dean said as he stripped down to his own boxers.

 

Sam tugged on a pair of sleep pants and climbed into the twin bed, pressing himself against the wall. His heart pounded so loud that he

worried Dean would hear it.

 

If he could, Dean made no comment. Instead, he settled onto the bed and opened his arms. “Come on, that can’t be comfy.”

 

Sam smiled and moved closer to Dean, resting his head on Dean’s bare shoulder.

 

“Better?” Dean asked.

 

 

“Mhmm,” Sam mumbled against his chest, closing his eyes. He reached over, letting his thumb play over the curve of Dean’s hip.

 

Dean shuddered after a moment.

 

“Are you cold?” Sam worried.

 

“Not with your ass on top of me. You’re like a heater, Sammy.”

 

“Sam,” he corrected without much force. “Want me to move?”

 

“No, then I would be cold.”

 

Sam nodded, getting a little braver. He slid his fingers further down, touching the band on Dean’s boxers. He traced the band to the center of

Dean’s stomach then over the line of hair to his belly button. Sam could feel Dean’s heartbeat increasing as his hand moved.

 

“Sam…”

 

Sam smiled against his chest. “Yes, Dean?” he asked, sliding his hand, flat against Dean’s stomach, up further. He caught Dean’s nipple

between his thumb and forefinger and gave an experimental pinch. Dean’s entire body stiffened, his breathing stopping completely.

 

“Sam,” Dean said in a firmer voice, reaching up and covering Sam’s hand with his own.

 

“What?”

 

“What’re you doing?”

 

Sam leaned up on his elbow, looking down at Dean in the dark. “Why did you kiss me?”

 

Dean scowled, meeting Sam’s eyes. “I dunno… I guess it seemed like a good idea.”

 

“Right. But… Did you want to go further?”

 

Dean swallowed hard enough that his throat clicked in the otherwise silent room. “I—I really do.”

 

“But you’re scared,” Sam whispered as it hit him. He removed his hand, but Dean grabbed for it.

 

“That’s not it, Sam. You know I’m crappy at this stuff.”

 

Sam smiled, letting his hand fall back onto Dean’s stomach, pinkie running over the waistband of his boxers. “Then why don’t you just… Let

me take the lead?”

 

“Now you know that’s not gonna happen, Sammy.”

 

Instead of answering, he moved the hand on Dean’s stomach lower under the elastic until he could bury his fingers in the coarse hair to give a

soft tug, and smirked when Dean let out a shaky whimper.

 

Bravery overriding any of his rational thought, Sam pushed his hand even deeper into Dean’s boxers, brushing over the base of his rapidly

swelling cock. His eyes remained on Dean’s face when he curled his fingers around it, letting it bulk up in his grip. Dean’s bottom lip was

tucked between his teeth, biting hard.

 

Sam sat up and brought his free hand to Dean’s face, pulling his lip free. “No shame in enjoying it, is there?” he breathed.

 

“Sam, are you sure?” Dean asked, shifting and arching a bit when Sam’s grip tightened, giving a steady jerk.

 

“You’ve taken care of me my whole life… I’m gonna return the favor.” He straddled Dean’s thighs before  Dean could argue, and pulled his

boxers down, tucking them under his heavy balls. Sam froze then, his breath catching in his throat. Dean, ever the arrogant one, smirked,

putting his hands behind his head.

 

“Gonna stare at it all night, or do something about it?” he drawled, shifting his hips up so his erection, now full and beginning to leak precome,

bounced against his stomach.

 

Sam scowled at Dean before moving back and leaning down. He weighed the length in his hand a moment before sticking his tongue out,

swiping over the slit.

 

Dean’s hand slipped from behind his head and down, gripping Sam’s forearm tightly. “Don’t tease, you bitch,” he panted.

 

“I’d stop teasing if you’d stop being a jerk,” Sam growled, his tone of voice making Dean’s entire body twitch. Sam’s lips wrapped around his

tip then, sucking and licking at the silky head, moaning at the taste of Dean’s precome. Dean’s fingers were biting into his arm, but it only

spurred him on further.

 

Sam’s mouth slid lower, lips stretched wide around Dean’s cock as his cheeks sucked in and out, creating a friction that had Dean writhing.

 

“Damnit, Sammy…” Dean finally gasped. His free hand dropped heavily onto Sam’s head, but Sam shifted, shoving Dean’s hand off.

 

“Dude, loosen up. I don’t need a bald spot,” he grumbled, rubbing his head. Dean smiled sheepishly.

 

“Need a haircut anyway.”

 

“Screw you,” Sam muttered, slapping Dean’s cock. Dean hissed, his nails biting into Sam’s arm once more.

 

“I’d rather screw you,” he growled, bringing his knees up. They connected with Sam’s chest before he shoved them outward, pushing Sam off

him. Sam landed at the edge of the bed.

 

Before Sam had a chance to recover, Dean was already yanking his own boxers the rest of the way off. They landed in a pool on the floor,

staying there as Dean stalked forward to crawl between Sam’s thighs and pull his hair back until Sam followed. Flat on the bed, Sam groaned

into the kiss and the firm press of Dean’s lips as his fingers followed the dips and valleys of muscles that were pinning him down. Dean was

rough and demanding, his kiss a reflection of his actions and the promises that had Sam’s stomach knotting and flipping. He tried to chase

Dean’s mouth when it pulled away, but Dean kept a steady hand in his hair that warned him not to move until the tip of Dean’s cock was

resting against his chin.

 

Sam leaned up, taking the tip back into his mouth. Dean’s hips jerked forward, choking Sam briefly before he shifted.

 

“Sorry.” Dean panted, but Sam shrugged under him. He had released his grip on Sam’s hair, but kept his hand on his head. Sam could feel his

gentle guidance pushing him forward and releasing to let him move back. Longing to make Dean lose control, Sam took him deeper into his

mouth, stopping only once his gag reflex acted up. He sucked what he could, bobbing his head back and forth, his eyes never leaving Dean’s

face.

 

He took in the entire scene above him; Dean’s head was hanging down, his eyes shut as he carded his fingers through Sam’s hair. He was

biting his bottom lip again, but even that couldn’t prevent the small whimpers and groans bubbling from his throat.

 

Sam thought those were the most beautiful sounds he’d ever heard as he worked the part of Dean’s dick he couldn’t swallow with his hand,

using his own spit and Dean’s precome to ease the motion.

 

Dean began to shake, his hips pumping gently as Sam slid his own hand down, pushing his pants under his aching cock. Sam moved back for

just a moment to wet his hand, but that was enough; Dean’s hand was over his instantly in a bruising grip.

 

“Don’t you dare,” Dean grunted, pushing forward to bump his erection against Sam’s lips.

 

“I need to come too, asshole,” Sam muttered through gritted teeth.

 

“I know that. I wouldn’t be a good big brother if I made you take care of yourself, now would I?” Dean’s smirk lit up his entire face, and Sam

flushed. He opened his mouth again, submitting to Dean’s insistent prodding.

 

Sam let Dean take control then, closing his eyes as Dean steadily pumped his hips up toward Sam’s face.

 

“I’m gonna come, Sam,” Sam heard Dean warn. He gave as much of a nod as he could manage—too busy bobbing his head and hand to

answer.

 

Dean cried Sam’s name as he came, his fingers digging into Sam’s scalp. Sam moved back a little, letting the majority of the fluid land on his

tongue. He sucked hard on Dean’s tip, eager to gather as much of the sweet and salty come as he could.

 

When Dean’s knees began to shake from overstimulation, Sam pulled off and slid up Dean’s body, leaning in to kiss Dean’s parted lips. Before

Dean had time to react, Sam pushed some of the fluid from his own mouth into Dean’s.

 

Dean pulled back, “You ass!” he shouted in surprise before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Sam laid his head back, swallowing the

rest of the come with a smirk.

 

“What, don’t like the taste of your own come?”

 

Dean glared, still wiping his mouth. “Gross. How can you swallow that shit?” he grumbled.

 

“Because it tastes good.”

 

“You’ve had it before?”

 

Sam shrugged. “I’ve sucked a few dicks.”

 

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “No you haven’t, I would’ve known.”

 

“I’ve been gone for six months, Dean. You have no idea what I’ve done.”

 

Dean’s mouth curved into a smile that had Sam’s stomach knotting. He watched Dean move to lie next to him, his eyes following Dean’s hand

as he reached down, lazily stroking Sam’s cock as he kissed his neck.

 

“Tell me then.”

 

“Tell you about my sex life while you jerk me off?” Sam snorted, biting back a groan when Dean’s thumb brushed over his leaking slit.

 

“Yeah… I’m curious what turns my little brother on.”

 

Sam’s stomach knotted at the phrase. “Jesus, Dean…”

 

Dean increased his speed just a little.

 

“I’ve only sucked off two guys,” Sam finally muttered, closing his eyes.

 

“Uh-huh… How many times?”

 

“Once each.”

 

“Really? Why only once?”

 

Sam’s body jerked when Dean cupped his hand, circling it around his tip.

 

“The first guy was actually a study partner. He hit on me… So I sucked him o—off.” He hissed after a second. “The second was during a m—

movie, Jesus, Dean,” he gasped.

 

“You sucked your first dick in study hall?”

 

Sam rolled his eyes, and let his shaking hand find Dean’s bare thigh before he gripped it, bucking his hips up, rutting into Dean’s hand.

 

“What else have you done, Sammy?” Dean’s voice rumbled against his ear.

 

“Nothing… Gotten head a few times,” he panted and opened his eyes to watch Dean work his hand over his length, his wrist twisting in that

perfect way.

 

“You’re a virgin?” Sam could nearly hear the laughter in Dean’s voice.

 

“Shut up,” he said before moaning, digging his fingers into Dean’s leg. “Please, De…”

 

Electricity ran through Sam when Dean’s lips curved into a smile against his earlobe. “Please what, Sammy?”

 

“It’s Sa—Sa— Oh God!” he cried when Dean’s other hand found his nipple, tugging and pinching in that perfect way.

 

“That’s it, Sammy. Let go for big brother.”

 

Sam’s hips jerked off the bed. “Dean!” he shouted, fucking into Dean’s fist.

Sam fell apart, writhing on the bed as the blistering heat raced through his veins. He could see black and white, and hear nothing but his own

voice, screaming for Dean.

 

When the last of his orgasm had faded to a comfortable background buzz, Sam opened his eyes—just in time to see Dean lick some of his

come from his fingers. Sam teased, “Not so bad, huh?”

 

Dean glared. “It’s not the same thing.”

 

Sam pulled his boxers up and looked over at Dean. “Thank you.”

 

“Did you just thank me? Jesus, Sam, didn’t I teach you anything?” Dean joked as he found his own boxers and pulled them on.

 

“Yeah… Not to be a dick to the person that gave you a great orgasm.”

 

“Well, in that case, thank you.”

 

Sam grabbed the back of Dean’s neck, pulling him into another kiss. “Happy birthday, De.”

 

“Thanks, Sammy.”

 

Sam watched patiently as Dean stretched out, sighing. “You gonna call me a bitch if I cuddle with you?”

 

“Even if I do, would it stop you?”

 

Sam shook his head no and Dean raised his arm, letting Sam curl against his body. That night he slept better than he had in the past six

months.


	3. Why Did You Come?

**January 25** **th** **, 2003 (Sam’s age: 19)**

Sam groaned when he woke the next morning, feeling around for Dean. His eyes snapped open when he found the other side of the bed cold and empty. Had it been a dream? He sat up, rubbing his eyes and searching around for any clues about the reality of last night. He found it when he saw the beer bottles and a half-drunk bottle of whiskey on his desk. It was just like Dean to leave before the chick woke up. Sam pushed the thought away and climbed out of bed, gathering his clothes and toiletries bag to go shower.

 

On his way, he ran into Luis coming out of the room next to his. Luis laughed and smacked Sam on the back. “You didn’t have to lie to me, man.”

 

Sam scowled. “Lie to you?” he asked as Luis followed him to the bathroom.

 

“About why you didn’t wanna go out. You should’ve told me you were gay—I wouldn’t have cared—or that you had a guy coming over.”

 

“You—heard?”

 

“You know how thin these walls are, Sam. Yeah, I heard. Plus I ran into the guy this morning.”

 

Sam perked up. “You did? Um, did he say anything?”

 

“Not much. I mentioned I was your friend, he told me cool, that he was starving and had to go get food before he withered away. Attractive guy, how old is he?”

 

“Twenty-four,” Sam answered, entering the bathroom. Luis still followed.

 

“Well, good for you. I was starting to wonder if you were a nun or something.”

 

“I’m gonna shower, so, uh, talk to you later?”

 

“Yeah, we can get breakfast or something, just come by my room.”

 

Sam nodded and headed past the stalls to the showers, trying to put Dean as far out of his mind as possible.

 

Sam stepped out of the bathroom, still combing through his hair. He stopped short when he saw Dean sitting in front of his door, stuffing eggs into his mouth while talking with Luis.

 

“Dean?” Sam said, shock evident in his voice.

 

“Heya, Sam. Brought you breakfast.” He held up a bag. Sam approached quickly and unlocked his door.

 

“I didn’t expect—“

 

“What, thought I’d leave without saying goodbye? I’m not a total dick, Sam.”

 

Luis was staring at him, and Sam felt a split second of terror over the possibility that Dean had mentioned them being brothers. No one was bringing out the pitchforks just yet, so Sam took the risk and slid down the wall next to Dean, opening the bag that was thrust against his chest.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a boyfriend, Sam? I wouldn’t have judged.” Luis finally said, and Sam flushed. 

 

“Well, we’re not—“

 

Dean silenced him by slinging an arm around his shoulders, tousling his shower-wet hair in the process. “Yep, nearly five years now.”

 

Luis smiled but looked confused. “I thought you said your family traveled a lot, Sam. How’d you keep a boyfriend so long?”

 

“Oh, uh, his family traveled with mine. His dad and mine were partners.”

 

“Oh! Well, that must’ve been nice.”

 

Sam nodded, stuffing a forkful of eggs into his mouth in an effort to stop the conversation.

 

“Didn’t you say you had a brother Dean? Must be weird dating one too,” Luis continued.

 

Dean covered for him quickly, “Yeah, freaked his brother out when he found out we’d started dating. But, he got used to it.” Sam breathed a sigh of relief, impressed that Dean was able to come up with such a smooth cover—he was the best liar in the family.

 

Luis nodded in understanding. “Tell you what, Sam, you got a good boyfriend. Four girls from the third floor passed us, and every one of them hit on him, but he was as polite as could be when he turned them down.”

 

“Well, we have an open relationship,” he filled, ignoring the surprised expression on Dean’s face.

 

“Really? That work okay? I don’t see you as a sharing kind of guy,” Luis said.

 

Sam chewed before answering, “With me being in college and him traveling so much, it makes it easier. It’d be too hard to keep things monogamous. He’s welcome to have as much fun as he wants.”

 

Luis laughed, “Well, I admire that. I’d never be comfortable letting my girlfriend sleep around.”

 

Sam shrugged, staring down at his food.

 

“So, how long you staying, Dean?” Luis asked.

 

“A few days. This is my first time at Stanford, actually. But I came into town and just had to see my Sammy.” He tugged Sam’s hair playfully, earning a glare from Sam.

 

“A few days?” Sam pressed when it clicked. “Don’t you have to get back to Dad? And uh, your dad?” he covered.

 

“Nah, I got the okay. Got some business in town actually… They wanted you to help me with it.”

 

Sam froze mid-bite. “Dean—“

 

“I know, I know, busy with school. I can handle it.” Dean looked at him and his eyes told Sam they’d definitely be having a discussion later. Sam stifled an eye roll. Luis glanced at his watch.

 

“Damn, I gotta get ready for work. If you’re in town a few days maybe we can hang out later, go check out a movie or a party,” he offered, sticking his hand out for Dean to shake. Dean took it, giving it a hearty shake.

 

“Sounds great. Nice meeting you, Luis,” he said. Luis nodded and rose, disappearing into his own room.

 

Dean turned to Sam. “Nice kid. Good friends you got here, Sammy.”

 

“It’s Sam,” Sam muttered without humor and rose, pushing open his door. Dean fell through, landing on his back. “In.”

 

“Mm… Gonna make me strip too, Sammy boy? I love the control.” When Sam’s scowl didn’t waver, Dean frowned, stood up, and grabbed his food before he entered the room.

 

“What?” Dean asked, leaning on the desk. Sam shut the door and climbed onto his bed, eating silently. When Sam didn’t answer, he snapped, “What?!”

 

“You came here for a case? What was all that crap about coming to spend your birthday with me?”

 

“I did, Sam.”

 

“Yeah right, don’t give me that shit. You’d never come here without Dad’s okay, and Dad only gave his okay because of a damn case. He doesn’t even know you’re here with  me, does he?”

 

Dean slammed his food down and stood up. “Yeah, he does, Sam! Jesus, I’m capable of making my own decisions.”

 

“Really?” Sam asked, huffing out a scornful laugh. “Then why didn’t you tell me about the case?”

 

Dean rubbed his temples “Look, a few days ago, I told Dad I was driving out to see you, explained that we had some birthday traditions and I didn’t wanna break ‘em. Dad wasn’t happy, said he didn’t figure you wanted to see me, but he found a case here in Palo Alto. He told me that I should try to get your help with it. I had no intention of asking you, Sam. I was gonna deal with it today and keep you out of it, okay? I did come to see you. The case was just something Dad brought up.”

 

When Sam didn’t move, just stared at his food, Dean approached him and touched his knee. “I mean it, Sammy. I would’ve come either way.”

 

“So is Dad here?” Sam quietly asked, not meeting Dean’s gaze.

 

“No, he’s in Colorado, um, I think he said it was a vengeful spirit.” Sam nodded, playing his fork over the eggs. “Do you believe me, Sam?”

 

Sam finally looked up. “I believe you. So, what’s this case?”

 

“You sure you wanna know?”

 

Sam shrugged. “If it’s something tormenting the town I live in, I guess I should know.”

 

Dean grabbed his duffel out from under the bed and pulled out a thick folder before grabbing his food and climbing onto the covers with Sam.

 

“I think it’s a cynocephalus.”

 

Sam scowled. “That’s a new one,” he said, opening the folder and flipping through some of the obituaries. “What’s that?”

 

“It’s a person with a dog’s head; it’s where some werewolf legends started. They live a super long time and are pretty much genetic freaks.”

 

“Like a shifter,” Sam replied.

 

“Yeah, but they’re a lot harder to kill, though, and much more rare.”

 

“What makes you think it’s that?” Sam asked, glancing through the pages of lore.

 

“The bodies were baked in the sun.”

 

“So, they were old.”

 

Dean shook his head. “No, I mean literally baked. They were dipped in oils to make the skin cook faster, and moved from spot to spot to get the most sunlight. And the flesh was flayed from the bones like someone would butcher a cow. It’s how the cynocephalus were supposed to eat. There’ve been animals found that way too, so.”

 

“So how do you kill it?”

 

“Cut off its head with a silver dagger blessed in a running stream.”

 

Sam grimaced. “Gross.” He looked over at Dean and caught him smiling. “What?”

 

Dean shook his head. “No, nothing, I mean… I just kinda missed this.”

 

“What?”

 

“Us talking cases together… Figuring it out. We make a good team.”

 

“De—“

 

“I know. I don’t want to involve you.” Dean took the folder back and closed it, setting it next to him.

 

“This sounds like a dangerous job, Dean,” Sam finally said.

 

“My middle name,” he joked.

 

“Look…” Sam said, staring down at his food. “I don’t want to hunt. I want to live a normal life. But if you need help on this case, I’ll offer a hand.”

 

Dean nodded, swallowing his food before speaking, “I don’t wanna put this on you. This was Dad’s idea, and it’s not fair. You got out. I’m proud of you for that.”

 

Sam said nothing, using the guise of eating to cover his silence. When he finished, he rose and threw his trash away, sitting on his desk and looking over at Dean. “Why’d you say you were my boyfriend?”

 

Dean looked up, pausing a moment before shrugging. “Well, I figured he heard us last night, so ‘brother’ wouldn’t have been a good way to introduce myself.”

 

“But boyfriend? Of five years?”

 

“How else would you have met me? And if I was a one night stand, why would I have come back?” He paused. “Why’d you say we had an open relationship?”

 

“Because we don’t have a relationship, Dean,” Sam answered simply. “We’re brothers, we… experimented. If Luis sees you out flirting with some chick, I don’t want him to think you’re cheating on me.”

 

“Who says I wanna flirt with some chick?”

 

Sam snorted. “Right. We kissed and I sucked your dick and suddenly you wanna be monogamous? Dean, I know you.” He looked up and was surprised to see hurt on Dean’s face. “What? Why’re you looking at me like that?”

 

“Sam, do you know how scared I was of doing what we did last night?”

 

Sam’s shoulders slumped. “I didn’t think—“

 

“Well think! You’re my brother, Sam. I raised you.” Dean slid off the bed, his arms crossed. “Do you know how long I’ve thought I was a dirty freak because of what I thought about doing to you? How much fucking strength it took not to turn tail and run after I kissed you because I knew I’d changed our relationship forever? And you wanna brush it off as we kissed and you sucked my dick? Dude, I can’t believe you.”

 

“Dean, I—“

 

“No.” Dean turned and grabbed his duffel bag, stuffing the folder into it.

 

“Dean, please.” Sam stepped forward and set his hands on Dean’s shoulders.

 

Dean turned around, stabbing his finger in Sam’s face. “I did something I swore I’d never do to you, Sam, because I trusted you.”

 

“Dean, I didn’t know!” Sam shouted. He knocked Dean’s hand out of the way and grabbed his face, kissing him hard.

 

Dean froze for a moment before pushing Sam back. “Don’t. Don’t if you don’t mean it,” he said, his voice thick with hidden emotions.

 

“De—I’ve been in love with you since I was fourteen. Earlier, probably, I just didn’t have a name for it. You’ve always been the only person I wanted to be with, in every way. I was brushing it off because I didn’t think you’d want that, to be tied down, you know? You always said that was the one thing you hated.”

 

“Sam… Look. When I’m with Dad, yeah, I’ll probably sleep around a little. But, I need you to know it won’t mean anything. Just a way to relieve stress… I wanna keep coming back to you.”

 

“Really?”

 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yes, you overgrown little girl.”

 

“Look, I, um, I got some homework and I have to go to work today. I assume you’ll wanna start on the case, right?”

 

“That was my plan. Anywhere with a computer I can use?”

 

Sam opened his bottom drawer and pulled out a large laptop, setting it on the desk. “Here. I can do my homework on the bed.” Sam opened the laptop and attached the power cord and the Internet cord, logging Dean in. He rose and grabbed a few books and notebooks from the bookshelf above before he crawled onto the bed.

 

Dean went to the desk and sat. “Fancy.”

 

“It’s easier to take notes,” Sam mumbled, opening his books.

 

“So, Sammy…” Dean began, opening the web browser and his file folders. “What are you studying anyway?”

 

“Right now I’m doing English homework. If you’re asking what my major is, I’m still undecided, but it’ll be either history or medicine.”

 

“Why those two?”

 

Sam grunted. “Well, because of hunting I already know a ton of history, I’d just need to fill in a little more with civilian facts… And I’ve always had an interest in doctors and stuff… Probably ‘cause I had to patch you and Dad up so much. But I don’t really know, it could change. I like this Law Ethics class I’m taking too.”

 

“Law? Yuck.”

 

Sam snorted before teasing, “You would say that, you criminal.”

 

They stayed in a comfortable silence for a large portion of the morning, each doing their own form of homework until it was time for Sam to get to his job.

 

Sam gathered his things for work, squeezing Dean’s shoulder affectionately before he left.

 

That evening, Sam was surprised to find Dean stretched out on his bed when he entered his room. “Hey, I expected you to be on the case.”

 

Dean opened his eyes. “Nah, I went and did a little investigating while you were out. I’m sure it’s a cynocephalus now, just gotta wait ‘til it gets darker to search for it.”

 

“Where’s it hole up?”

 

“Caves, usually. I have a couple spots I think it might be.”

 

“Need backup?”

 

Dean sat up. “That a serious offer, Sam?”

 

Sam shrugged, dropping into his desk chair. “Yeah, don’t see why not. I mean, I want out of hunting, but I don’t wanna see my brother get killed by this thing, or have it kill my friends. If you need help, I’ll help. Just this once.”

 

Dean nodded. “Sounds good… Yeah, I’d like some help if you’re not too soft.”

 

Sam rolled his eyes. “So, is that all you did today? Worked the case?”

 

“And had a pretty good dinner at some café.”

 

Sam snorted. “The three most important things in my big brother’s life are…”

 

“Are what?”

 

“Hunting, screwing, and food. In that order.”

 

“I’d put food ahead of screwing honestly, but yeah, you’re right about that.”

 

Sam shook his head and began to pull more books down. “Well, I’m gonna do homework until you’re ready to leave,” he said as he opened his books. There was an itching between his shoulder blades that let him know that Dean was watching him, but instead of making him uncomfortable, it brought on a sense of comfort and safety that he hadn’t felt in months.

 

 

**January 26** **th** **, 2003 (Sam’s age: 19)**

Sam and Dean stumbled into Sam’s dorm room just past two in the morning. Dean was stifling laughter as he leaned on Sam, holding his bleeding forearm.

 

“Dude, your face!” Dean crowed. Sam glared at him, shoving him into the desk chair.

 

“Take off your coat, lemme see your arm,” Sam instructed.

 

Dean did as he asked. “I thought you were gonna pee yourself!”

 

“He was right next to my face, Dean, of course it startled me,” Sam snipped.

 

“You screamed like a little girl!” Dean gasped as he broke into another fit of laughter.

 

Sam dug the first aid kit out of Dean’s bag and threaded the needle. He stabbed it into Dean’s skin to bind the wound with no warning, and Dean yelped.

 

“Quit being a baby,” Sam muttered.

 

“Oh come on, you’re not sore, are ya? I’m just playing.”

 

The teasing was due to the events that surrounded their killing of the cynocephalus. They had found the correct cave after a short search, and had beheaded a small-statured man with a dog’s head with ease. What they weren’t expecting, however, was the second creature, hiding in the shadows. Sam, who’d been focusing on burning the head of the first creature, was startled when the second emerged behind him. It stood at nearly six foot five, so Sam was face to muzzle with the creature when he turned, and Dean had grabbed him just in time to narrowly miss losing his nose when the creature’s jaws snapped.

 

This one had put up more of a fight, throwing both of them against the cave walls and giving Dean the nasty cut on his forearm. Dean had managed to overpower it by climbing onto its back, knocking it down long enough for Sam to stab it in the throat and begin the grueling beheading process.

 

Sam finished stitching Dean’s arm and bandaging it, moving back to strip out of his dirty clothes. “God that sucked.”

 

“You’re just out of practice,” Dean said, stripping as well.

 

“You got thrown pretty good yourself, dude,” Sam reminded him while pulling on clean pajama bottoms. “I’m beat.”

 

“Same,” Dean agreed, crawling into the bed with Sam in just his boxers. He sighed when Sam nuzzled up to him, but shifted to kiss the top of his head. “Thanks for your help tonight, Sammy. You did good,” he said after a while.

 

“No problem. A least you’re safe, and it’s dead… Are you leaving tomorrow?”

 

“I’ll probably leave Monday morning. I mean, you’ll have school again, and I don’t have anything else to do.”

 

“When will you come back?” Sam asked, looking up. Dean was quiet for so long that Sam feared the answer would never come.

 

“As soon as I can, okay, Sammy? It won’t be too long. Not like before.”

 

Sam nodded, placing his head back on Dean’s chest and curling his arm around Dean’s waist before squeezing tightly. “Okay, De.”

 

 


	4. Making It Work

**February 14** **th** **, 2003 (Sam’s age: 19)**

The flowers arrived early in the morning, about six am. Sam had just finished dressing and was packing his bag when the knock sounded. He assumed it was Luis or one of his other friends to go get breakfast, but when he threw open the door a young woman stood in the hall with a bouquet of various flowers.

 

“Um, hi,” she said, smiling. “Are you Sam Winchester?”

 

Sam scowled but nodded. “Yeah, that’s me.”

 

“Oh good. Um, here.” She passed the flowers over to Sam and flushed. “Happy Valentine’s Day.” She turned and rushed off before Sam could question her.

 

He brought the flowers in, looking them over until he found a card with his name on it tucked between a rose and a carnation. Pulling it out and opening it, Sam found neat handwriting that said, ‘ _ Happy Valentine’s, bitch. See you sooner than you think _ .’

 

Sam’s heart swelled with pride that Dean had even thought of him. He found a cup that would work as a vase and set the flowers up neatly before gathering his things to head to class for the day.

 

Sam unlocked his room at nearly nine that night, stifling a yawn. He dropped his backpack on the floor and headed toward his bed, staring at his phone.

 

“Hey, Sammy.”

 

Sam yelped, startled, and looked at the source of the voice.

 

Dean was sitting on the bed.

 

“Dean!” Sam jumped onto the bed and hugged him tightly. “The flowers, you—how’d you get in here?”

 

“The lock was easy to pick… Wanted to surprise you.”

 

“Right, or make me wet myself,” Sam muttered without anger, punching Dean in the shoulder.

 

“Kinky, I like,” Dean teased before lying back and pointing to the desk. “You like the flowers?”

 

“I love them… But I thought you didn’t do stuff like that?”

 

“I don’t. But, you’re such a girl, I figured you might be butt-hurt if I didn’t do something sissy for Valentine’s Day.”

 

Sam slugged him in the shoulder again. “Don’t be a jerk… But it was nice. Thank you.”

 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll get my revenge. Still friggin’ stink like that flower shop.”

 

“Aw, afraid the smell of flowers will cover your BO?” Sam teased. Dean growled and grabbed Sam’s head, pinning it under his arm. Sam laughed wildly, punching him in the ribs to escape.

 

Dean freed his head after a moment, and Sam huffed out an annoyed breath, fixing his shaggy hair. “You’re a dick.”

 

“It’s been said.”

 

Sam stretched out on the bed, looking up at Dean.

 

“What?” Dean asked after a moment.

 

“Nothing, I’m just… Still surprised I guess.”

 

“At what?”

 

“That you’re here… That you’re… With me.”

 

Dean shrugged. “I’m stuck with you, Sammy, whether I wanna be or not.”

 

“Do you wanna be?”

 

Dean shrugged again. “Yeah, I mean, you’re my baby brother.”

 

“I meant how we were last month,” Sam said, lowering his eyes to his hands.

 

Dean sighed, running his fingers along Sam’s arm. “Yeah, Sam, I do. It’s nice.”

 

Sam met Dean’s gaze before leaning forward, kissing him gently.

 

Dean rolled on top of Sam, letting his tongue slide over Sam’s bottom lip. Sam opened his mouth willingly, moaning gently when their tongues met. He reached up, holding the back of Dean’s neck with one hand, the other sliding around and under Dean’s shirt, tracing the bumps of his spine. Goosebumps followed in the wake of his touches, up and then down, tracing the top of Dean’s jeans.

 

Dean moved back. “Sam, I—“

 

“Don’t even try to be sweet. You don’t have to,” Sam muttered, bringing his hands around to undo Dean’s belt. Dean reached down, undoing Sam’s jeans.

 

Dean wiggled off the bed, kicking off his boots and socks, followed closely by his shirts and jeans, leaving him in threadbare boxers. Sam, who’d sat up on the bed to remove his clothes, spoke up, “You need to go shopping.”

 

“These are fine, shut up,” Dean muttered, grabbing the legs of Sam’s jeans and tugging.

 

Sam decided to help Dean by wiggling out of them and tossing his shirt aside before he opened his arms and pulled Dean to him.

 

Dean’s mouth felt like it was everywhere as he worked over Sam’s neck and collarbone. Sam moaned his name, still in disbelief that this was really happening. To ground  himself, he slid his hands slid down under Dean’s boxers to squeeze his ass, looking for some form of skin to skin contact.

 

Before Sam could push the fabric down completely, a knock sounded at the door, startling them both.

 

“Damnit,” Sam muttered, then shouted, “Who is it?!”

 

“It’s Luis!”

 

Dean rolled off Sam so he could sit up, fixing the blanket over his tented shorts. “Come in.”

 

Luis opened the door, grinning sheepishly when he saw Dean and Sam bare-chested. “Did I interrupt something?”

 

“Just about. Whatcha need?” Sam asked.

 

“Valentine’s Day party tonight. Thought you might wanna come. But, if you’re busy—“

 

“Nah, we can go, huh, Sammy?”

 

Sam glared at him. “Um…”

 

“Dude, college parties. You can’t tell me they’re anything but awesome.”

 

Sam heaved a big sigh and looked from Dean to Luis. “Fine, yeah, let us get dressed and we’ll meet you in your room in ten.”

 

Luis grinned. “Awesome.”

 

“Really, Dean?” Sam asked when the door was shut and he had climbed off the bed.

 

“What? I’ve never been to a college party.”

 

“They’re just like normal parties, I guess… I wouldn’t really know.”

 

“Whatcha mean?”

 

Sam shrugged, tugging on his jeans. He grunted, annoyed, as he tucked his still half-erect dick away. “Never gone. I’ve usually been studying.”

 

Dean’s eyes narrowed. He stood and slid his hands up and down Sam’s arms slowly. “Hey, we’ll go check it out for a while, if it sucks we’ll come back and I’ll take care of this.” Dean’s hand gripped Sam’s crotch, making Sam whimper.

 

“What, only if it sucks?” Sam breathed.

 

“Nah, I’ll do it no matter what, I’ll just do it a little sooner if it sucks.”

 

Sam raised his eyebrow, smirking. “You better make good on that promise.”

 


	5. Happy Birthday, Sammy

 

**May 2** **nd** **, 2003 (Sam’s age: 20)**

The months since February went by in a whirlwind for Sam. Almost like clockwork, Dean would show up one Friday out of the month and stay for the weekend. When Dean was there, things seemed okay. They acted almost like a normal couple: eating lunches and dinners together, and going to parties around campus… But Dean was still Sam’s big brother. He pranked him at least once during every weekend that he was over, from shaving cream in his backpack to dirty notes and pictures in his schoolbooks placed so he’d find them in class.

 

By early April, Sam had managed to find a better paying job, had gotten himself a car, and had just signed the lease on a furnished apartment right off campus so he wouldn’t have to worry about finding a place to go over the summer.

 

Sam woke early the morning of his 20th birthday, already planning to skip class and spend all day unpacking and getting some new things for his apartment.

 

So, he tugged on a pair of threadbare sweats and turned on the radio before beginning to dig through the boxes, unpacking. At around noon, Sam stopped and went out, heading to a small café to get lunch before going to one of the local stores for some new dishes.

 

When he parked and stumbled up the walk with two armfuls of bags, he certainly didn’t expect anyone, especially not Dean, sitting on the front porch with a duffel bag and a wrapped gift. “Dean! You’re here!” he cried, hating that he couldn’t rush to him.

 

Dean rose and grabbed some of the bags, freeing up one of Sam’s arms to hug him tightly. “It’s your birthday, why wouldn’t I be here?” he asked, leaning up and pecking Sam’s mouth.

 

“You just left like a week ago.”

 

“So? I’m not gonna miss baby brother’s birthday. Plus, a new place. I gotta check it out.”

 

“Well, it’s not much. Come on.” He walked past Dean and unlocked the front door, opening it and stepping in. He dropped the bags on the table before turning and taking the others from Dean. When both arms were free, he wrapped Dean in a tight hug. “I’m glad you’re here,” he admitted.

 

“Why aren’t you in class, anyway?” Dean asked, holding Sam at an arm’s length.

 

“I skipped. You know, figured it was my birthday, and I wanted to get my place set up…”

 

“Well look at you, not the good boy I envisioned.”

 

Sam snorted. “It’s the first day I’ve missed since I started, don’t look so pleased… How’d you figure out where I lived?”

 

“I showed up at your dorm, saw you’d moved out, so I asked Luis. He told me the address, actually directed me here… He’s a good guy.”

 

“He was my first friend here, super nice, even when I was awkward.” Sam cleared his throat and stepped back,

 

“So, right, tour. Um, like I said, it’s not much… And I’m still unpacking… But uh… Kitchen, obviously... Living room in here.” He led Dean into the sparse living room that had just a threadbare loveseat and a coffee table. “Bathroom,” he said, pointing to one door, “and my room.” He pushed open the second door, revealing a queen-sized mattress  on the floor, a desk, and a box that showed a picture of a bookshelf.

 

“Dude, not even a real bed?”

 

“It’s a real bed, I just… don’t have a frame.”

 

“We’re gonna fix that. Come on.” Dean grabbed Sam’s hand and dragged him back into the kitchen.

 

“Dean—” Sam tried to protest, “I gotta put stuff away.”

 

“You got anything that needs to be put away right now?” Dean asked and Sam nodded.

 

“Yeah, some groceries in the car.”

 

Sam jumped when Dean slipped his hand into Sam’s front jean pocket and pulled out his car keys. “I’ll grab the groceries. Put away whatever needs to be put away,” Dean commanded, heading out the door. Sam leaned against the wall, watching him go.

 

The two put the groceries away, Dean making snarky comments all the while about the healthy food choices Sam had selected. When they finished, he took Sam’s wrist and tugged him toward the door. “Come on.”

 

“Dude, you’re not gonna buy me a bedframe.”

 

“Yeah, I am. It’s your birthday.”

 

“Right, and you don’t have a job.”

 

“I’ve got money,” Dean defended, acting hurt.

 

Sam gave him a knowing look. “Uh-huh. From what?”

 

“I won big in a poker a game a few nights ago. Trust me, I can afford it. And I’m not sleeping on a mattress on the floor, Sam. You’ve got a real house, you’re gonna make it look like one,” Dean spoke while he walked toward the door, but stopped when he realized Sam wasn’t following. He turned and furrowed his brows. “What?”

 

Sam shook his head. “I just have a really awesome big brother,” he explained, walking up to Dean.

 

Dean punched Sam lightly in the chest. “Come on, you big baby.” He headed out, fishing his own keys from his pocket.

 

“Dude, we can take my car.”

 

“Mine’s bigger.”

 

“Yeah, we’re still gonna have to strap a bed frame to the roof.”

 

“Sam, trust me. We won’t,” Dean argued as he walked toward his car, parked a block down. “I know what she’ll fit. Come on, she fits you, doesn’t she?”

 

Sam snorted. “Barely.”

 

“Quit bitching and get in. Direct me to a furniture store or something,” Dean said, climbing in and starting up the Impala.

 

Sam was still laughing when they carried the box containing the dismantled bedframe into his room. Dean glared, letting go too soon on purpose so Sam’s fingers were pinched between the box and the floor. Sam yelped. “That’s for being a bitch.”

 

“Jesus! You ass!” Sam complained, shaking his throbbing fingers. “I wasn’t being a bitch,” he defended when he could move them again.

 

“Yeah, you were. Dude, it wasn’t that funny.”

 

“You literally got called a fussy bottom by the guy in the store. I’ve never seen you look so pissed.”

 

“It’s your fault!” Dean snapped as he withdrew his knife and cut the tape on the box. “I was trying to play the good boyfriend and explain what you wanted so your bitch ass  wouldn’t have to.”

 

Sam crouched to help him pull the box open. “It was cute, De.”

 

“It was embarrassing.”

 

Sam grabbed Dean’s wrist. “Thank you, Dean,” he said, his voice measured but filled with gratitude.

 

Dean’s face softened and he shrugged. “Anything for baby bro. Come on, let’s get this put together.”

 

They worked steadily, falling into the synchrony that they had gained after so many years together so that the bed was complete within the hour.

 

“Wanna get the rest of this stuff set up?” Dean offered, opening a box filled with books.

 

“I gotta put together the bookshelf,” Sam motioned to the box lying nearby.

 

“Well, let me do that, you unpack some of the other rooms.”

 

Things felt right like this. He pressed a kiss to Dean’s mouth before heading into the kitchen.

 

It was evening before the two realized it; the entire house was unpacked, and they were throwing boxes away as the sun went down. Sam paused, a half crushed box in hand, to gaze at the colorful horizon. Dean wrapped his arm around Sam’s hips.

 

“Any way to get to your roof?” Dean asked.

 

“Uh, yeah, I think there’s a ladder out back. Why?”

 

“Want to climb up tonight? Watch the stars a while?”

 

“Orion isn’t visible, though,” he pointed out.

 

“So? I can still tell you the story.”

 

“You’ve changed it,” Sam said, “Back when you started telling it in January.”

 

Dean shrugged. “Yeah, I figured it was more fitting… Plus, I was trying to psych myself up to kiss you.”

 

Sam nodded. “Well, I’d love to. Once we have dinner, though. I’m kind of starving.”

 

“Do you want to order something?”

 

“You read my mind.”

 

They finished breaking down the boxes before heading inside. Sam leaned on the wall, looking out the window as he ordered their dinner, but glanced back to see Dean setting a wrapped gift on his lap. When Sam hung up, he looked back again, questioning the gift silently.

 

“It’s not much, but...”

 

“De, you already did so much,” he said, running his fingers over the newspaper wrapping.

 

“Yeah, but I got this before I did that. Just open it.”

 

Sam ripped open the paper. Inside was a new paperback. Underneath it was a hardback book, slightly worn and very old. Upon closer inspection, Sam saw the paperback was a book about Orion: the constellation, the myth, and possible supernatural connections to it on Earth. When Sam set it aside and picked up the hardcover book, the breath rushed out of him.

 

“Dean, how the hell did you get ahold of this?” he asked. It was a first edition copy of  _ The Picture of Dorian Grey _ , his favorite book, in nearly pristine condition.

 

When Dean was thirteen and Sam was nine, he’d caught Dean reading a book with a very interesting cover. Ever the curious child, he’d pestered Dean until Dean finally agreed to read him a little, to shut him up if anything. It turned out to be a piece of fiction that Dean had found somewhere.

 

Dean had hoped to gross Sam out with the violence and difficult language, but Sam had been so enraptured in the story that the maturity of it hadn’t really clicked in his mind. 

 

As he got older, it made more sense, but by then he loved the book so much that it didn’t matter. He begged Dean to read it to him on an almost a nightly basis, though Dean would complain. It was the tone of his voice, the way he put emphasis on the right words that made Sam love it so deeply. Dean finally gifted the book to him, but they had still read it together until it was so battered it was barely one piece.

 

Of course, their dad would have freaked out had he known his sons were reading such a thing, but they were careful to hide it, packing it in school backpacks and other places their father never looked. It was their first secret, and they had been so proud of it.

 

Sam knew he had to look like a fool staring at the book.

 

“It wasn’t easy,” Dean said from next to him, “but I had help. Bobby, he, uh, he’s been keeping an eye out for a copy for about four years now.”

 

Sam looked up at Dean, “These are perfect, De. Thank you.” He kissed Dean hard, gently setting the books on the table as he swung his long leg over Dean’s lap to straddle him. Dean’s hands landed comfortably on Sam’s hips, his thumbs pushing up Sam’s t-shirt and rubbing the smooth skin there.

 

Dean moved back, brushing his lips over Sam’s smooth cheek. “Happy birthday, Sammy.”

 

Sam shifted to let his mouth rest lightly on Dean’s shoulder. “Only ‘cause you’re here,” he said.

 

“Get off me, you sap.”

 

Sam wiggled off Dean’s lap and picked up the books again, touching the worn cover of the book with an adoring look on his face. Dean elbowed him.

 

“If I’d known you were gonna pay more attention to the book than to me, I wouldn’t have gotten it for you,” he teased.

 

“Sorry, De, I just… Do you know how long I’ve wanted this?”

 

“Yeah, for about fourteen years. I had to have a dictionary next to me the first time you begged me to read it to you because I didn’t know half the words they used.”

 

“You remembered.”

 

“How could I not? I have the damn thing seared into my brain.”

 

Sam rose and brought the book into his bedroom. He placed it on the top of his bookshelf, moving things around to make room for it before returning to the couch. He scooped up the paperback and looked at it as he slouched down, leaning on Dean.

 

“I didn’t know if you’d be into that, but it seemed like your kinda thing. Plus, I know you like Orion.”

 

Sam nodded. “It sounds interesting, thank you, Dean. You’ve always been able to pick good stuff for me,” he said, setting the book on the table and rising when the knock at the front door signaled the pizza’s arrival.

 

After dinner, Sam and Dean situated themselves on the roof of the house, Sam settling between Dean’s legs, a bottle of Jack between his own. They stared up at the stars, Dean pointing out various constellations as they took turns sipping off the bottle. Dean’s fingers kept finding Sam’s hair, carding through it and rubbing his scalp in a way that made Sam want to purr.

 

They found a comfortable silence after a while; their measured, even breaths in sync with each other, staring up at the stars. Sam found Dean’s hand and was surprised when Dean let him twine their fingers together over his stomach.

 

“Tell me the story of Orion,” he whispered after a while more.

 

Dean began slowly, telling the story as he used to when they were children: Orion falling in love with the princess, being blinded by the king, and cured by the sun. He hesitated a moment, pressing a kiss to Sam’s head.

 

“Artemis and Apollo took Orion in, hunted with him, cared for him. Artemis, she fell in love with Orion. He was beautiful, the perfect hunter, the perfect athlete. But Apollo, caring deeply for his sister, was concerned about the romance. She was the virgin Goddess and he feared that Orion, who was much less civilized than her other suitors in the past, would destroy her image…

 

“So one night, while Orion was out swimming, Apollo watched. When he could barely see the hunter, who was just a black speck on the horizon, he came up with a plan and called Artemis to him. ‘I bet you can’t strike that black speck on the horizon with your arrow,’ he challenged.

 

“Artemis, arrogant Goddess that she was, notched an arrow and took her shot, fatally wounding Orion. When his body washed ashore, Artemis was in such a state of grief over her mistake that she sent his body to the stars, where he stays today… Watching over hunters like you and me.”

 

Sam lifted his head, looking up at Dean. “Thank you, De.”

 

Dean looked down. “Wanna go inside, Sammy?” he asked.

 

Sam nodded, sitting up. “I’m freezing,” he admitted as he balanced himself on the ridge of the roof, stretching his sore spine before climbing down the ladder.

 

“Did you wanna go lie in bed?” Sam offered when they were both inside.

 

Dean nodded, tugging off his shoes by the door. “Go ahead, I’m gonna shower real quick if you don’t mind.” Dean stepped forward and touched Sam’s arm when Sam just shrugged. “I wouldn’t be heartbroken if you joined me either,” he commented before slipping past Sam and into the bathroom.

 

Sam remained in the kitchen until he heard the water turn on. He slipped in afterward, stripping out of his clothes and stepping in behind Dean, who turned and smirked. “Thought you had decided not to join.”

 

“And miss out on seeing you naked?” Sam snorted, stepping forward and setting his hands on Dean’s wet hips.

 

Dean pressed against Sam’s body, shaking the water from his hair. Sam leaned down to kiss him gently. Dean returned it, slinging his arms around Sam’s shoulders.

 

Their kiss deepened gradually until Sam had Dean pressed against the tiles of the shower wall. Dean’s hands were everywhere, sliding over Sam’s back, his shoulders, squeezing his ass, and carding through his hair.

 

Sam’s hips ground, ever so slightly, against Dean’s, urging his already thickening cock to harden faster and ache more deeply. They both needed this, that was clear, but there was an air of desperation to Sam’s kissing, touching, and grinding that hadn’t been there before.

 

Maybe it was the newness of their intimacy in the shower, or the new house, but Sam knew something had changed within him. Dean preferred it when he acted more submissive, giving up control and begging for him, but he couldn’t be like that. It was like something had snapped within him—he was rough, needy.

 

Sam was slammed to the wall, and in a second, all he could feel was Dean pressing against him, chest to chest. Sam leaned his head back, looking at Dean with heavy lidded eyes. The water poured down his face, his cheeks burned a fiery hot from his lust. He tucked his bottom lip between his teeth, biting down and sucking the water and the taste of Dean from it.

 

Dean’s chest rose and fell rapidly, water running in crooked rivulets over his body, and it took everything Sam had not to step forward and lick the moisture from Dean’s freckled, tanned skin. Dean’s bright green eyes looked nearly black with lust, tongue running over his bottom lip in an obvious sign of his need. Sam couldn’t help swelling with pride at how absolutely beautiful he looked. The ability to make his hero look so debauched, it was the biggest compliment Sam could ever have gotten.

 

Sam stepped forward, grabbing Dean’s cock in his hand and giving it a hard stroke that had Dean gasping for air before hissing, “Whoa, easy, tiger.”

 

Sam kissed him again before Dean could say anything else, desperation revealing itself through a plea against Dean’s tongue, “Please.”

 

It’d been a few months since they’d done anything more intimate than kissing, but neither of them seemed to mind. The entire thing was so new to both of them; sometimes just cuddling or making out, the occasional blowjob or hand job, it was enough. It was the line they were willing to cross.

 

Sam whimpered when Dean moved back, leaving him pinned to the wall with palms on his shoulders, stepping an arm’s length away. The water was cold by this point, and Sam understood Dean’s look. He smacked off the shower and opened the curtain, grabbing Dean’s wrist.

 

“Towels?” Dean asked in vain but Sam ignored his request and dragged him, dripping wet, through the living room and into his bedroom.

 

Once there, Sam shoved Dean against the wall, hands digging into his short hair. Dean let out a grunt, but Sam muffled it by covering Dean’s mouth once more. A streak of both pleasure and pain rippled through Sam’s body when Dean’s strong hands squeezed his shoulders, the forward jerk of Dean’s hips making it clear just how desperate he was.

 

Sam stepped back from Dean quickly to stand in front of him with water still dripping from his shaggy hair and his cock standing erect against his stomach. Dean was falling apart. This much was clear from the heaving of his chest, obvious even in the dark, and the quick dart of his tongue to wet his lips. It was something Sam never could have pictured, not accurately at least. Having this sort of control over Dean was exhilarating and overwhelming, but he was going to use it to his advantage.

 

Sam walked away without a word and grabbed a bottle of lube out of his desk. He crawled onto the bed, spreading his large body out over the mattress, his legs splayed wide, unashamed.

 

Sam poured the lube on his fingers and began rubbing himself, small groans escaping his mouth.  He shifted up so his back was resting on the pillows to watch Dean, smirking when he realized that Dean hadn’t moved from the foot of the bed. It didn’t matter that he was staring; in that moment, Sam wanted nothing more than Dean’s absolute attention. Sam’s tongue slipped between his wet lips, playing up the innocence Dean always talked about. He began to finger himself, first one, then two, and finally three, fucking down onto the fingers in his hole, toes curling against the comforter, and sounds that should have been illegal slipping from his lips.

 

There was no shame, not here, not when it was Dean, and he had to admit that he loved the freedom.

 

Sam’s other hand was hidden behind his head gripping a fistful of his own hair and tugging. His body shuddered with moans and whimpers; each jerk of his hips caused his erection to bump against his belly. “You gonna watch me all night, De? Or fuck me?”

 

Sam saw the jerk Dean’s entire body gave after he spoke. He had always been the good boy, rarely swearing; it was good to know what a little bad language did to Dean.

 

Sam closed his eyes, relying on the blind sensations. The bed shifted and the brush of Dean’s skin against the hair on his thighs as Dean straddled him sent shivers through Sam’s whole body. Sam’s muscles were taut with need, aching deep inside him. The need he felt deep into his bones only increased when Dean’s lips brushed against his own. 

 

Lost in their kiss, Sam didn’t notice Dean’s hands —not until there was a finger pressing into Sam’s hole next to his own.

 

“Like that, Sammy?” Dean growled, removing his lips from Sam’s and running them over the curve of Sam’s neck. “Never had anyone touch you here, have you?”

 

Sam whimpered, then shouted when Dean drove two fingers deep, relying on the lube Sam had used earlier to slick his way.

 

“Answer me.”

 

“No!” Sam cried. “No one…”

 

“That’s what I like to hear,” Dean murmured and Sam felt hot breath on his neck for a moment before teeth grazed his adam’s apple. “A pretty virgin… All open for me, Sammy? Begging big brother to take you, be your first?”

 

Sam whined again, bringing his hands to Dean’s shoulders and digging in. “Yes,” he hissed, arching against the invading fingers.

 

Sam opened his eyes when Dean withdrew. Dean’s hand brushed his hip to snag the lube from the bed, pouring out an ample amount and warming it between his fingers before pushing them back into him.

 

Sam could have screamed; Dean was taking his time—no, Dean was teasing. The muscles under Dean’s skin were tense and quivering but still he moved slowly, stretching Sam and using more lube than was probably necessary.

 

“Please, Dean…” Sam’s voice was shaky. “Please, I’m already not gonna last long, please,” he begged as his eyes finally shut again and his fingers bit into Dean’s shoulders—Sam could only imagine the bruises that would be left there in the morning.

 

“I got you, Sammy… It’ll be okay. Do you have a condom?” Dean whispered, Sam whimpered when Dean’s calloused hand dragged on his stomach, rubbing gently.

 

Sam shook his head, focusing on anything but that wide, steady palm. “I always fantasized that my first time would be bareback… Now that I know it’s you, maybe you can make that fantasy happen?” he suggested, regardless of the burning he felt in his cheeks.

 

“I’d love to, baby… Do you want me to pull out before I come?” 

 

Sam opened his eyes and canted his hips, rubbing against Dean’s cock as he shook his head. “Not a chance… If you’re taking my virginity, you’re going the whole way… I want you to fill me up.”

 

Dean nodded. “Of course, Sammy.” He shifted over. Sam forced his eyes to stay open so he could watch Dean slick his shaft before lining it up with Sam’s loosened hole.

 

Sam tensed despite the preparation when Dean’s blunt tip nudged him. Dean rubbed his thigh with his free hand. “Look at me, Sammy,” he commanded. Sam couldn’t help but focus on his face, beginning to relax instantly.

 

“You tell me now, and you be honest… Do you want this?”

 

Sam’s jaw clenched, twitched, before he nodded. “Yeah, Dean. I want it,” he said firmly, knowing Dean would never even consider moving forward if his consent wasn’t clear.

 

Sam kept his eyes on Dean, forcing himself to get lost in those gorgeous green eyes he’d loved for so long. Dean’s hands spread him open, the rough callouses scraping against the soft skin of his ass. Sam’s eyes dropped to Dean’s mouth when the tip of Dean’s cock pressed against him. Sam struggled to keep his breathing steady while Dean pushed in—to focus on anything except the stretch. Sam’s hands flew to Dean’s neck when the stretching turned into a burning, his limits reached; Dean wasn’t going to fit.

 

“Dean, stop…” Sam panted.

 

Dean froze, meeting Sam’s eyes. “Does it hurt? Need more lube?”

 

“No, just burns a little. You’re big, I—I’ve never had more than fingers. I’m okay now, keep going.”

 

Sam grinned at the shift in Dean upon his command: the stilling of his body and how it seemed that he was focusing entirely on Sam. Sam could feel himself stretching more to encompass Dean until the widest point pushed past Sam’s rim. Sam hissed and clenched his hands into fists at the stinging pull.

 

“Talk to me, Sam,” Dean said softly, his body shaking with the effort to keep still. Sam reached down, touching Dean’s hand.

 

“You’re good, De… Just pulled a little… Keep going, please.”

 

Sam was whimpering and grimacing as Dean began to push in again. His eyes slipped shut as he tried to relax himself, his fingers playing over Dean’s hand, now placed on his stomach. Dean’s legs were shaking against his own thighs, so he reached down to stroke them, the fine hairs tickling the pads of his fingers.

 

Eventually, his whimpers turned to moans, and the grimace melted from his face. When Dean pushed the final inch in, Sam shouted Dean’s name, his body clenching around Dean.

 

Dean’s fingers dug into his stomach. “Jesus, don’t do that!” he hissed.

 

“Sorry, can’t control it,” Sam defended.

 

Dean’s swallow was audible. “If you do that too much, this isn’t gonna last. Just gimme a second, okay?”

 

Sam’s legs were as wide as they could go, his cock still hard as ever, dribbling precome into an ever-growing puddle just below his belly button.

 

Sam couldn’t pull his gaze from Dean above him. Dean pulled out halfway and Sam moaned his name, the slick slide of their sweaty bodies causing a chain reaction of shudders that reached all the way to his toes. Every inch of Dean’s firm chest was pressed against him—he could feel Dean’s heart pounding, how his stomach quivered under that beautifully freckled skin, and the twitch of his cock deep inside Sam; it was all so overwhelming. Sam let his eyes slip shut.

 

“Look at me, baby boy.” Dean whispered, and Sam could hear his voice shaking.

 

Sam met his gaze. “It’s perfect,” he whispered. “Please, Dean… You gotta move.” His hands moved from Dean’s legs upward to the jut in his hips, their arms and legs now a tangle at Sam’s midsection.

 

Dean nodded. “Anything for you, Sammy.” He pushed in and pulled out quick enough that Sam’s back arched off the bed, his body following Dean’s.

 

“Dean!” he begged, attempting to pull Dean back against him. He knew his eyes were wide as he looked up at Dean, who pushed back in, moaning when Sam’s body convulsed around him.

 

Sam complied when Dean tried to lift his leg. He let it rest on Dean’s shoulder, shifting them both so Dean could pull almost all the way out and drive deep on every thrust. Sam writhed under him, pleading and moaning, his entire body rocking with the thrusts.

 

Every slow drag of Dean’s cock inside him was perfect, thick and hot, better than he’d ever fantasized. He had no idea how someone could go back to masturbating after something as amazing as this.

 

Dean’s hand wrapping around his cock jerked Sam out of his thoughts. He shook his head quickly, “No… I can come on my fingers alone… I know I can come on your cock… Just a little more, De, please.”

 

Dean pulled out, rolling onto his back. “Come on, Sammy… Ride me… You know the best angles for yourself.”

 

Sam sat up, straddling Dean. “What a generous lover,” he teased before reaching back and grabbing Dean’s cock, sliding down on it with a high moan, shifting for a moment to get settled.

 

He smirked down at Dean before picking up a quick pace that had Dean bucking off the bed. He tossed his head back, his mouth a fountain of noise, moaning, screaming Dean’s name, plus a number of other phrases that would have made a hooker blush. Sam shuddered when Dean grabbed his hips, silent save for the small noises Sam could hear over the slap of their skin and the squeak of the bed—and the noise he was making himself.

 

Sam gave a particularly loud moan, slamming himself down on Dean even faster as his orgasm hit him, ropes of come splashing over Dean’s stomach and chest. His vision whited out—he could feel every sweat-slicked inch of Dean against his body as he shivered and rode Dean through his orgasm, slowing down only when he was well satisfied—and barely able to hold himself up.

 

Despite his exhaustion, Sam grinned at Dean. “Ready to take your pleasure now, big brother?”

 

“Don’t you dare tease, you little shit,” Dean warned.

 

“Dean,” he began, “Fuck me.”

 

“You sure?” Dean clarified, tightening his grip on Sam’s hips.

 

Sam nodded slowly, clenching around the base of Dean’s cock. “Oh yeah… Nice and hard.”

 

Sam fell backwards when Dean shoved him and he grabbed the backs of his knees, leaving himself spread wide. He gasped Dean’s name when Dean grabbed the curve of his ass before driving in, bracing his chest against Sam’s thighs.

 

Sam’s body rocked with the force of Dean’s thrusts, each one causing his breath to hitch as the bed groaned with exertion beneath them. No words escaped his open mouth, only cut-off whimpers and grunts that filled the air. When Dean’s hips began to stutter, Sam reached up and slid one hand around the back of Dean’s neck, pulling him down until his rough stubble scraped against Sam’s cheek.

 

“Please, Dean,” Sam begged, bringing his free hand up to Dean’s hips and digging in until he was sure Dean would have bruises. His body tightened around Dean, satisfaction racing through his body at the hitch in Dean’s breath and the weak whimper of his name on Dean’s lips.

 

Dean’s entire body went tense on top of Sam, his muscles twitching hard enough that Sam could feel them under his hands. Sam tightened his grip in Dean’s short hair, closing his eyes at the sensation of Dean’s cock throbbing inside him and the heat that spread within. He worked his body against Dean’s, milking him, seeing him through and bringing them both down from the high they shared.

 

Sam had to grab Dean’s forearms and push so Dean wouldn’t fall on him before he let his legs fall to either side of Dean’s body. Dean was already leaning back down, forcing their mouths together. It wasn’t a rough, needy kiss, not like before. This was lazy, loving, a kiss that could only be mustered in a true, contented afterglow.

 

Dean shifted back into his kneeling position, hands on Sam’s thighs. He pulled out, groaning softly. Sam grunted, his hips tilting toward Dean at the sudden empty feeling. Dean traced the muscles of Sam’s stomach lightly and Sam shivered, his lips quirking into a sleepy smile. He reached down and set his hand over Dean’s, squeezing softly.

 

“Come on,” Dean whispered, “Get up on the pillows and go to sleep, Sammy.”

 

Sam sat up and wiggled over, stretching out on the bed. He pressed his body tight to Dean’s, slinging one leg over Dean’s waist.

 

“It’s Sam,” he muttered.

 

“Cuddle slut,” Dean grumbled back under his breath.

 

Sam slugged him in the stomach. “Don’t be an ass.”

 

“I’m not, you’re just a girl.”

 

Sam punched him again.

 

“Just go to sleep, Sammy… Happy birthday.”

 

“Thank you, De… I love you.” Sam closed his eyes when Dean’s lips pressed against his forehead, warm and soft. Dean would always be his home.

 

 

**May 5** **th** **, 2003 (Sam’s age: 20)**

Sam held onto Dean extra tightly early Monday morning. He didn’t care that Dean was whining about being girly or that he couldn’t breathe, he just didn’t want to ever let him go. 

 

“Can’t you just stay with me?” Sam whispered when he felt Dean begin to struggle for freedom.

 

“You know I can’t, Sammy.”

 

“Why?”

 

“I can’t leave Dad. I can’t leave hunting. Plus, I would never fit into your life here.”

 

Sam scowled. “Fit in, Dean? You fit in fine; you’re my brother, more than that! Hell, you… You like my friends, you’re getting to know the town. You could get a job—“

 

“Yeah, get a job, live with my brother, who I’m having sex with. That’ll come out pretty quick if I use my real name and try to live some apple-pie life… I can’t do that, Sam. I’m sorry, but you need to understand that.”

 

Sam hung his head but nodded. “I do. I’m sorry.”

 

Dean’s posture softened. “Hey, there’s nothing wrong with wanting me to stay, Sam. Part of me wishes I could. I just know what’s best for you, and it’s not me, not all the time. I’d drag you right back into hunting and you know it.”

 

Sam nodded again. “I know. I know, I’m sorry… Will I see you again next month?”

 

“Counting the days already.” Dean kissed Sam gently, pulling him into his arms tightly.

 

Dean stepped back after a moment and grabbed his duffel, heading to the Impala. “See you in a bit, Sammy!” he called, lifting his hand in a wave before he got in and drove off.

 

Sam watched him go from the front porch. When he could no longer see or hear the Impala, he turned and went back inside, readying himself for his classes. ****

 


	6. Falling Apart

 

**June 27th, 2003 (Sam’s age: 20)**

Sam scowled, looking out his window to the darkening city. It was the last Friday of the month, and Dean hadn’t shown up or called. He was concerned, to say the least, but didn’t want to bother him or their dad with a call. Their dad could have put him on a hunt that could span the entire month depending on the creature—that had to be it. Sam settled back at the kitchen table, opening a book to read.

 

School had finished up the middle of last month. Sam had taken more hours at his job and was taking one summer class to keep himself busy between Dean’s visits. He hadn’t realized how much he craved those visits until Dean missed one, and how much he worried about Dean when he was gone.

 

 

**July 18th, 2003 (Sam’s age: 20)**

A knock sounded at Sam’s door at eight in the evening, startling him from his sleepy reverie. Sam jumped up and threw open the door, a grin spreading on his face. It dropped quickly when he saw it wasn’t Dean, but his friend Brady.

 

“Hey, Sam.”

 

Brady was a guy Sam’s age, another student he’d met in one of his classes, this one being Intro to Biology. Brady was a pre-med major and one of the smartest kids that Sam had had the fortune of meeting.

 

They’d hit it off right away, though he’d never been on campus when Dean was so they hadn’t been introduced. Not that Sam minded. Brady was his type of friend; Dean would hate him for being such a goody two shoes.

 

“Hi, Brady… What’re you doing here?”

 

“Geez, aren’t you happy to see me?” Brady joked, slipping past Sam’s wide form into the house. “I wanted to see how you were doing.”

 

“I’m fine, waiting for Dean.”

 

“Oh, is he coming by today?” Brady asked, digging in the fridge for a carton of juice.

 

He poured it into a cup as Sam spoke, “He usually comes by once a month and stays for the weekend… He missed last month, but I’m sure he’ll be by this week or next.”

 

Sam followed Brady into the living room. They sat on the couch and Brady shrugged. “Maybe he got busy. He works with your dad, right?”

 

“Yeah, that’s right.” There was a stretching silence before Brady slapped Sam’s leg.

 

“Hey, why don’t we go to a party tonight? Lisa is throwing one, her parents are in Jamaica for the rest of the month.”

 

Sam shook his head. “No, I should stay and wait for Dean… I don’t want him to think I forgot about him.”

 

Brady sighed but nodded. “I get it… Well, I’ll come by later, okay?”

 

Sam nodded, then rose and led Brady to the door.

 

 

**November 29th, 2003 (Sam’s age: 20)**

Sam stretched out on the roof of his rented house and sighed. It’d been six months since he’d heard from Dean. Last month he’d attempted to call Dean’s phone, but the number had been changed. He’d reached out to his father earlier today, scared of what could have happened to Dean. It rang, but went to voicemail all three times that Sam had tried.

 

Sam had climbed up onto the roof that night. Though it brought back so many memories of Dean and their lives, it was Sam’s special place.

 

He found Orion, but when he looked at it all he could see was Dean with his machete slipped into the holster on his belt and a sawed-off shotgun in his steady hands. Those hands had taught him everything he knew.

 

Sam didn’t realize he was crying until a tear rolled down his cheekbone, wetting the inside of his ear. When he realized it, though, he sat up, wiping his face with an aggressive swipe of his hand. He climbed down the ladder and went into his constantly empty house, stretched out on his lonely bed, and struggled to fall into a fitful sleep.

 

 

**December 17th, 2003 (Sam’s age: 20)**

Sam laughed, tossing the soccer ball to Brady. “You only won ‘cause you cheated!” he called as they gathered their shirts.

 

Brady shook his head. “Not my fault you run slow,” he answered, stretching out on the bench of the picnic table nearby. Sam climbed up, sitting cross-legged on the table.

 

“Hey, you thought any more about what I said?” he began cautiously, looking down at his best friend.

 

“What you said?” Brady looked up at him, his eyes dull.

 

“About getting back into pre-med. Come on man, you’re so good at what you do. You’re gonna make a great doctor.”

 

“I told you, my priorities have changed.”

 

Sam sighed. “No, you just got lost. Man, we’ve all been there. You cleaned up your act, didn’t you? No more partying, no more hookers… No more spending daddy’s money just to be a dick. This is the last step for you to get back on track, Brady, I know you can do it.”

 

Brady looked up at Sam, smiling. “You’re a good friend, Sam, you really are.”

 

“I’ll only be a good friend if I can get you to straighten out again. You’re too damn smart to waste your life.”

 

Brady nodded. “Okay, Sam. I’ll think about it.”

 

“You’ve been thinking about it, Brady!” Sam cried, frustrated. “Come on, please. I’m beggin’ you.”

 

Brady smiled, letting Sam know that his pleading, puppy dog expression had to have worked. “Fine. Let’s… Go up to my dorm and shower, then we’ll walk to the Registrar’s office.”

 

“Seriously?” Sam asked, perking up visibly.

 

 **“Seriously.”**  


	7. Too Late

**January 23rd, 2004 (Sam’s age: 20)**

Dean was parked a few blocks away from Sam’s silent house. He knew Sam was gone, his car was missing and the house was dark. So, he found a place with a clear line of sight, waiting for Sam to arrive, intending to surprise him.

 

It’d been just over seven months since Dean had spoken to Sam. One thing after another had kept coming up, and he felt terrible. First, it was a big case, then an emergency with his health—he’d gotten ripped up pretty bad hunting a wendigo. The healing process was long and painful, and Dean had asked for their father to call Sam, but he’d refused. “Leave him to his life, Dean,” was a common reply. “Let him move on,” was another one.

 

By September, Dean was scared to call Sam, not knowing how he’d react… He’d be furious, Dean knew that much. So he threw himself into his work, distracting himself from the inevitable and trying to think of what to say in a phone call.

 

Whenever Dean brought up the idea of going to see Sam, John would find a new case to send him on, or had some reason about why visiting him would be a bad idea. Dean knew the truth. Their father was trying to protect Sam. He just wanted Sam happy, even if that meant complete isolation from his family. It was better this way, and part of Dean believed that too.

 

It was the day before Dean’s birthday. Twenty-five years old… Damned if he wasn’t going to see Sam, the man he was in love with. Part of him was scared that Sam had moved, had gone somewhere else, and he’d never be able to find him in this big city. But a quick peek into the house told Dean that wasn’t the case; he could see Sam’s bed and bookcase, still full, through the glass. So he got in the Impala and waited, passing the time by flipping through the radio stations or searching the newspapers in his backseat for a new case to bring to his dad’s attention.

 

It was four in the morning on the 24th when Sam’s car came up the street. It parked in front of his house and Dean sat up straighter as Sam stepped out of the driver’s side. A beautiful blonde climbed out of the passenger side, and his throat closed when Sam wrapped his arm around her and leaned down to peck her mouth. She giggled, the sound echoing through the empty night.

 

“Behave, Sam,” she teased, reaching down to squeeze his ass. They climbed the steps to Sam’s place and disappeared inside.

 

A knot of dark rage grew in the pit of Dean’s stomach. He buried it quickly; he had no right to be angry with Sam. It had been over half a year without a word. For all Sam knew, Dean was dead somewhere, burned to ashes in a hunter’s funeral. It was good that he had moved on.

 

As Dean pulled out of his parking spot, he repeated that simple phrase…  _ It was good that he had moved on. _ What else would Dean have wanted for him, after all? If something were to happen on a hunt, or even a car accident, a bad case of the flu, any number of things that could kill a person, would he want Sam holding on to hope by moping around or waiting at the window every day like some abandoned puppy?

 

An angry, condescending voice in Dean’s head tried to say yes, Sam wasn’t supposed to be anyone’s but his… But he knew better. He knew it was for the best, just like his father had said.

 

Now Sam could have everything he deserved. A white picket fence, a couple of adorable kids, and they would be adorable with that pretty blonde. He could have a good job as well, rather than making money through illegal means like the rest of his family did. Dean knew he’d never be able to provide that for Sam, intimate relationship or not… He would never leave hunting, not truly.

 

Dean found a cheap motel and curled up on one of the beds with the few bottles of beer he’d packed in his duffel, intending to drink away any hint of pain he felt. He’d leave in the morning, he decided, and not bug Sam after all.

 


	8. Moving On

**January 24th, 2004 (Sam’s age: 20)**

Sam woke late in the afternoon and looked at the calendar. A pit formed in his stomach when he thought of Dean. Maybe… He glanced at his phone, cursing himself for being a hopeless idiot when he saw he had no missed calls. He rolled to his side to watch Jess, still sleeping, her hair splayed out on the pillow around her head.

 

Brady had introduced Jessica to Sam last night during a party. He hadn’t meant to take her home, but there was a lot of drinking involved, and Sam was already a little sad with it being so close to Dean’s birthday. So, against his better judgment, he took the girl home and slept with her, his first sexual partner since Dean.

 

He knew he had to move on; either Dean was dead or wanted nothing more to do with him. Sam couldn’t help but blame himself; perhaps he’d asked for sex too quickly, or maybe his begging Dean to stay had pushed him away. Either way, Dean was gone from his life whether he wanted it or not, and he couldn’t spend the rest of his life moping.

 

Sam rose, padding to the bathroom to shower, still caught up in his thoughts. It wasn’t that he didn’t love Dean. He would always hold a spot in his heart for that man, brother or not. Dean had shown him a whole world beyond what he thought existed. Dean had cared for him in every way, taught him everything he knew. Dean was his closest friend and his first love.

 

But Dean had moved on; he had to as well. Jess seemed like a sweet girl from the time they spent talking. She was pre-med, like Brady, smart, and clever in every way that made Sam smile. Sure, this might just be a one-night stand, but he did have fun, and that was what was important.

 

Sam was in the kitchen, making lunch, when Jessica padded out, wrapping her arms around his midsection. “Afternoon, stud.”

 

Sam turned around, smiling goofily. “Hey, sleep well?”

 

“I did, and I had a lot of fun last night.”

 

“Yeah?” Sam asked.

 

Jess chewed her lip. “I’d like to see you again, you know.”

 

“Me too,” he admitted. “Maybe I could take you out on a real date?”

 

Jessica beamed at him and went over to the table, grabbing one of his notebooks and pens. She scrawled her phone number and name on a page before turning back to Sam.

 

“That’s my number, but it won’t work while I’m out of the country, so, um, call me when I get back?”

 

“Out of the country?” Sam asked, approaching her.

 

“Yeah, my parents are taking me to Europe until late April.”

 

“Europe? But the semester just started last week.”

 

Jess laughed and shook her head. “Right, Brady wouldn’t have mentioned that. I’m taking a semester off to travel. I’m actually only on campus to arrange things with the registrar. I’m taking off tomorrow.”

 

“Oh, I see, I was your last big stress relief before going back to the parents, huh?” Sam teased. Jess punched him playfully in the arm.

 

“Sure. But, call me when I get back okay? I’d like to see you again.”

 

“Definitely,” Sam agreed, nodding. “Do you want lunch?” he offered, pointing to the food on the counter.

 

“No, I have some things to do before my parents pick me up. But, thank you, Sam.”

 

“My pleasure… Need me to drop you off anywhere? I know you don’t have your car.”

 

“There’s a bus stop nearby, and I need to go into town anyway, but thanks again.” She lifted up on her toes and pecked his cheek before heading out the door. Sam grinned as she walked away, feeling okay for the first time in months.

 


	9. Missing You (Do You Care?)

**May 2nd, 2004 (Sam’s age: 21)**

“Happy birthday dear Sam, happy birthday to you!” Sam flushed red as Jess set the small cake in front of him and his friends whooped and clapped. He blew out the candle and grinned as Jess sat in his lap, kissing him.

 

Sam had done what he promised he would: calling Jess at the end of April when Brady mentioned she was back in town. They’d had their first date a week ago and had been pretty much inseparable since then. Sam was falling hard and fast for her. She had this way of making him feel normal despite everything else. When she was around him, he rarely thought of Dean, though today it was impossible not to.

 

 

**May 2nd, 1993 (Sam’s age: 10)**

Ten-year-old Sam grinned widely when Dean set the day-old cake on the table. “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday brother Sammy, happy birthday to you!” Dean sang in the off-key, cracking voice of a fourteen-year-old as he pulled out his lighter to light the candles on top of the cake. “Make a wish, Sammy.”

 

Sam thought for a second before taking a deep breath and blowing the candles as hard as he could. Dean helped from behind him, blowing lightly to make sure all the candles went out.

 

“There, now it’ll come true, just don’t tell no one about it,” Dean said. “Want a piece?”

 

“Yes!”

 

Dean cut a crooked slice of cake out, putting it on a plate. He pulled the candles out then pushed the rest of the cake and a fork over to Sam, and sat next to him before taking his piece.

 

“No way,” Sam squealed, excitement in his young voice.

 

“It’s your birthday. Go nuts,” Dean said. Sam grabbed his fork and took a big bite of cake.

 

Their father had promised them that he’d be home for Sam’s birthday—double digits were important, as he explained—but he was nowhere to be found, and it was already seven. Dean knew it would happen; his father had missed so many important milestones in his sons’ lives already, and it never shocked them when he failed to show for yet another.

 

Dean never failed Sam, though. He’d made that promise when Sam took his first steps, stumbling and falling into his five-year-old arms. He made that promise every night that he was up until the early hours of the morning, rocking, feeding, and changing Sam; even at four years old he knew more about parenting than most first-time parents. He made that promise again every night that Sam had a nightmare with no one else to comfort him. And he knew, deep down, even at fourteen years old, he’d make good on that promise for the rest of his life.

 

After the cake had been put away and Sam had taken a bath to remove the chocolate from his chubby face, Dean settled onto the bed, allowing Sam to curl up with him. He passed over a small box, wrapped in week old newspaper with a homemade bow. “Happy birthday, Sammy.”

 

Sam gasped with honest surprise, taking the present into his lap. “Thank you, De!”

 

“Well don’t thank me until you open it, goofball,” Dean joked. Sam tore the paper off, opening the little brown box inside.

 

In the box was a small bag of marbles, the leather obviously worn from years of play. They were Dean’s, one of his most prized possessions, actually. Underneath the bag was a ragged paperback,  _ The Picture of Dorian Grey _ .

 

“You’re giving these to me?”

 

Dean nodded. “Yeah. I’ve outgrown the marbles, and you’re old enough for ‘em. Just take care of ‘em okay? And, I know how much you love that book. I couldn’t find a new copy, so I figured I’d give you mine.”

 

Sam hugged Dean tightly. Second-hand gifts and hand-me-down gifts weren’t a shock to Sam; their father rarely left them with money for anything but food. He loved each item Dean passed down to him like they were made of gold. Comic books, a worn old army man, even clothes. Sam treasured it all. Dean wasn’t sure why, not until they were both older and he asked.

 

Sam explained that it didn’t matter how old or worn the things were, they were things that Dean had, at one point, touched, played with, and cared for, and he loved Sam enough to pass them down to him.

 

So when ten-year-old Sam squeezed him until he couldn’t breathe and shoved the tattered book into his hands, Dean opened it up to the well-worn first page.

 

“I’ll read it to you, but you’re getting too old for this, you know.”

 

“I know… Just this one last time.”

 

“Only if you read it with me,” Dean bartered. “I’ll read a page then you read a page, okay?” Sam nodded, snuggling up to his Dean’s side. “You read first.” Dean passed the book to him and Sam began, speaking slowly to make sure he got all the words correct.

 

“‘The studio was filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred amidst the trees of the garden, there came through the open door the heavy scent of the lilac, or the more delicate perfume of the pink-flowering thorn.’”

 

As Dean listened, he leaned over and grabbed a can of beer from his backpack. He opened it and Sam gasped.

 

“You’re not old enough to drink!”

 

“Dad isn’t here, no one needs to know,” he said as he took a long swill.

 

Sam watched him, adoration clear in his eyes. “When can I have one?”

 

“When you’re twenty-one.”

 

“But you’re only fourteen!”

 

Dean shrugged at Sam’s outcry. “I’m the older brother, so what I say goes. I promise, on your twenty-first birthday, I’ll buy you your first legal beer.”

 

 

**May 2nd, 2004 (Sam’s age: 21)**

The party finally wound down at about eleven and Sam was delightfully tipsy; he’d drunk just enough to get a good buzz, but not enough to become fall-down drunk—unlike Luis, whom Brady and Sam had had to carry out of the house and into the backseat of the car.

 

Sam flopped on the loveseat, stretching out. Jess laughed from the rocking chair where she was curled up with one of her textbooks. “You need a bigger couch, Sam,” she commented.

 

“It came with the place. I’ll get a bigger couch when I get a place of my own.” He shifted until he was half sitting up so that his feet were on the actual couch rather than hanging over.

 

Sam watched Jess with a soft smile on his face. It was simple, but he couldn’t help but notice the way her hair fell over her face while she highlighted various things in her textbook, or how she paused every now and then to pick up a pen and make a note in the margins.

 

After a while, he reached over, grabbing a book off of the coffee table, not looking to see which one he was picking up.

 

Sam had two or three stacks of books on every table in the house: his kitchen table, his coffee table, and his nightstand. One was a ‘get rid of’ pile, which, when it got big enough, he’d box up and take them to the local library. A second was usually a stack of his schoolbooks, though it wasn’t always present. And the third, usually the largest pile, was his ‘to read’ books. Some never left the pile, others came and went. He had a tendency to glare or bitch at anyone who mentioned that he should clear his tables off.

 

Sam settled against the couch and opened the book, still watching Jess. When his focus turned to the book his body went cold.  _ ‘The studio was filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred amidst the trees of the garden…’ _ Of course this was the book Sam had to pick up, a glaring reminder of the one person he was missing most today.

 

With a soft sigh, he set the book down, rubbing his temples. “I think I’m gonna go to bed, okay, hun? You gonna stay the night?”

 

Jess looked up and nodded. “I planned to if you don’t mind.”

 

“Not at all.” Sam sat up and walked over to her, pressing a kiss to her mouth.

 

“Not in the mood to read?” she asked, motioning to the book on the table. “What is that anyway?” Her nose scrunched as she attempted to read the worn cover.

 

“Oh, it’s uh,  _ The Picture of Dorian Grey _ ,” Sam answered.

 

“That book was so dull… I couldn’t get into it.”

 

“It’s my favorite book, you haven’t seen the first edition copy on my bookshelf?” he asked.

 

Jess raised an eyebrow. “You are so weird, baby.”

 

Sam shrugged. “A man can’t like good fiction?”

 

He scooped up the tattered paperback, taped and repaired so many times that it barely resembled a store-bought book. He wandered into the bedroom, turning on the lamp and crawling into bed to begin reading despite the ache in his stomach telling him not to.

At the same moment, some sixteen hundred miles away, Dean sat in a bar in Richardson, Texas, nursing his third glass of whiskey. He was imagining what Sam was doing... Probably having the time of his life, out drinking, or at home with that girl he’d seen. Maybe it was a new girl now, Dean hadn’t been back to check on Sam since that January night.

 

Dean had argued with himself all day over whether or not to call Sam, but in the end, his stubbornness and his father’s voice echoing in his head had won out. Let Sam be… Don’t keep reminding him of what he got away from…

 

So Dean drank. And he intended to keep drinking until his heart stopped hurting, or until they kicked him out… Whichever happened first.

 

There was a girl at the bar a few stools down from him, pretty dark hair and bright blue eyes, who’d been checking him out for the past half hour. Dean considered picking her up; it would have been relatively simple in her inebriated state. If drinking didn’t take the pain away, maybe good old-fashioned fucking would—but he honestly didn’t feel like it. The emotion was strange, especially when he’d used drinking or sex as coping mechanisms for the majority of his adult life… But, he just wanted to be alone tonight. If he couldn’t have Sam, and he knew he couldn’t, he’d rather be alone.


	10. Maybe I'll Forget About You (But You Won't Let Me)

**December 20th, 2004 (Sam’s age: 21)**

Sam stretched out on the freshly made queen-sized bed. He looked up, smiling as Jess entered, looking amazing even in her paint-covered sweats and one of his t-shirts.

 

“Wanna order pizza for dinner? I really don’t feel like cooking,” she admitted. Sam nodded, sitting up.

 

“Come here,” he said, opening his arms.

 

When Jess and Sam had decided to move in together, they’d found a gorgeous one bedroom apartment right off campus that would fit them both comfortably. Jess had suggested just moving into Sam’s rented house, but he’d refused, claiming it was really too expensive to keep for another two years.

 

If he had to be honest, he simply didn’t want to admit that there were too many memories of Dean in the house, memories of when he was happy, the happiest he’d ever been, and the saddest he’d ever been, waiting for Dean for months. He had known for a long time that he needed out of that house to fully devote himself to Jess, and it seemed to be working.

 

They’d only been in the apartment a few days, but Jess had brought most of her belongings, including a bigger bed and couch; they’d had to rely on help from her parents and Sam’s savings to purchase other things that they needed or wanted. Once all the boxes were unpacked it would really be the perfect home for them.

 

Sam cuddled with Jess on the bed for a few minutes, until the grumbling of his stomach roused her to go and call the pizza shop. While she did that, Sam opted to begin unpacking, starting with their bookshelf in the living room.

 

As he unpacked, organizing the books neatly on the shelves they’d set aside for each one, he came to a book wrapped in an old t-shirt. Unwrapping it sent a sharp pain to his stomach, the now well-read book about Orion along with the copy of  _ The Picture of Dorian Grey _ that Dean had gotten him for his twentieth birthday. Part of him had considered getting rid of them, pushing the final piece of that memory of that night out of his surroundings once and for all, but he couldn’t bring himself to. The thoughtfulness of the gift was one thing—of course Dean’s gifts had always been thoughtful in their own way—but this one, it was reminiscent of their childhood, the  happiness that they’d had with each other.

 

With a sigh, he unwrapped them and set them on the top shelf before ducking back into the box to continue unpacking.

 

 

**October 31, 2005 (Sam’s age: 22) - Pilot**

Sam’s eyes snapped open when he heard the noise from the living room. Immediately worried for Jess, Sam rose as quietly as he could and grabbed a baseball bat, assuming it was a break in. He found the intruder wandering through the room— a tall, muscular male—and immediately his training from childhood kicked in. He lunged, not focusing on anything but dodging fists and pinning his opponent. When the stranger knocked the baseball bat from his hand, Sam tripped, allowing them to get the upper hand.

 

They knocked Sam to the floor and wrapped a big, calloused hand around his throat.

 

“Whoa, easy, tiger.”

 

Sam’s eyes focused and widened when he saw Dean above him. Fury rose in his throat.

 

_ ‘Well, shit,’  _ Sam thought.

 

The feeling that his world would never be the same had stayed with Sam throughout the evening. Through talking with Jess, arguing with Dean, and walking away from his  normal life—even for the weekend—Sam knew something was going to go terribly wrong.

 

It felt like they’d been driving for hours, though a glance at his watch told him they’d only been on the road for about fifteen minutes. Sam hadn’t wanted to leave his happy  little corner of the world, but he could never say no to Dean.

 

Sam sighed softly, reading over the papers in the file folder that Dean had handed him once they got into the car for the fifth time that night.

 

“Hey, you okay?” Dean asked.

 

“No, Dean, I’m really not.” Sam admitted.

 

“What did I do?”

 

“What did you do?” Sam snapped, looking over at his brother. “What didn’t you do, Dean?”

 

“What?” Dean asked, and Sam sighed again, rubbing his temples.

 

“Where the hell have you been for the past two years, huh? You take my virginity and then you just bolt? Was that your whole plan? See if little brother would put out for big brother like some slut?”

 

Dean slammed on the brakes, jolting Sam forward. Had he not lifted his hand, he probably would have cracked his forehead on the dash. “Don’t you ever,  _ ever _ say something like that to me again, you little shit,” Dean snarled, shoving his finger in Sam’s face.

 

Sam pulled back, surprised at Dean’s outburst. “Don’t you ever even think it,” Dean continued, his shoulders relaxing a little. “I never ran out on you, Sammy.”

 

“It’s Sam,” Sam hissed through gritted teeth. “And it sure as hell felt like you did. You fucked me on my birthday, then left, and I don’t see you, even  _ hear _ from you until two years later? And it’s for a case? What am I supposed to think?”

 

“I wanted to come back, Sam, I swear it.”

 

“Then why didn’t you?”

 

Dean ran a hand down his face. “I did. January. I came back and waited a few houses down from your place so I could surprise you. You came home around four… With a chick on your arm.”

 

Sam tucked his chin to his chest, staring at his hands. “Why didn’t you call before then? Why didn’t you come by?” he asked softly, trying to divert the topic.

 

“Well, first it was a hunt, took a long time. Then a monster ripped me up, I can show you the scars if you don’t believe me. It took two months of healing time. Dad refused to call you and I didn’t have a phone… By then, I figured you might’ve moved on, and… The things Dad said, about letting you go, they stuck. But I came by on my birthday, I wanted to see you, I couldn’t stay away… But I saw you with her and I knew you’d moved on, so I had to… I wasn’t gonna keep you from being happy.”

 

Sam looked up at Dean. “I—I haven’t moved on, Dean. I love Jess, I do, but I still miss you every day,” he said softly. “Jess and I moved just so I didn’t have to be in the house that I had when we were together.”

 

“Sammy…”

 

“It’s Sam,” he muttered. “Look, let’s just get to Jericho and find Dad so I can go home to Jess.”

 

 

**November 2, 2005 (Sam’s age: 22)**

Dean looked over at Sam for the hundredth time that morning. They were sitting in a motel room near to the apartment that Sam was sharing with Jess. Dean’s exhaustion was setting in, but he refused to lie down, not when Sam was like this… Not after what Sam had seen.

 

It was only six hours ago that Dean had dropped Sam off at his apartment with a halfhearted plea to stay with him. When Sam turned him down, he’d figured that was that… But the electric problems and radio static triggered the hunter side of his brain, and it short-circuited on a single thought,  _ Sam _ .

 

Dean had barely pulled Sam out in time, and he’d been silent and brooding ever since. Aside from the words spoken at the trunk of the car, Dean hadn’t managed a peep out of his little brother.

 

“Sammy,” he said softly when he saw the clock turn to five.  Sam looked over at him, a cold, dead expression on his face. “You need to get some sleep.”

 

“I’m not tired, Dean. We should be out there, looking for something.”

 

“Sam, come on. You haven’t slept for days… You and me are both beat. If we looked now, we’d miss something. Come on, go take a shower and get a few hours of sleep. That’s all I ask.”

 

“Dean—”

 

Dean shook his head “No, come on.” He rose and went over to the bed, grabbing Sam’s wrist.

 

“Now, Sammy.”

 

Sam sighed, throwing Dean a tired bitchface. “Dean.” His voice was softer this time.

 

“Sam, we will find her killer. But, you gotta take care of yourself to do that. Now come on. You stink like the fire, and you’re exhausted. I’ve taken care of you since you were a baby. Come on. I got you, Sam.”

 

This time he let Dean pull him up and drag him to the bathroom. He pushed Sam onto the toilet and turned on the water.

 

“Dean, I can shower myself.”

 

“At this point, dude, I’m concerned about you accidentally drowning. You’re dead on your feet, Sammy. Shut up and lemme take care of you, okay?” Sam opened his mouth to protest, but stayed quiet and waited for the shower to warm up. “Come on, up. Clothes off.”

 

Dean began to push Sam’s coat off, letting it fall onto the floor before undoing the buttons of his flannel. Sam grunted and pushed Dean’s hands away. “I got it, Dean, I can undress myself.”

 

“Then do it.” Dean stepped back and began undressing.

 

“You’re not going to get in the shower with me.”

 

“Yes, I am, Sam.”

 

Sam stopped unbuttoning his shirt and froze. “Dean! Come on, I can handle a damn shower.”

 

Dean looked up at him, his eyes the only thing giving away what he really felt. “I did this, Sam.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“If I hadn’t taken you from Jess… I knew you’d say yes, man. I knew there was no way you’d ever say no if I asked. If I hadn’t asked you…”

 

“Then we both might’ve been on that ceiling.”

 

“No, you’re a hunter, Sam. You could’ve saved her. So, I gotta do something. I gotta do what I can make this up to you, I mean, I know I can’t, ever… But I failed you, Sam. More than once now, and I need to try to fix that. Please.”

 

Sam hesitated but nodded, reaching back up to finish undoing his shirt. “Fine, I get it,” he said softly.

 

Dean’s shoulders slouched, relieved, and went back to stripping out of his clothes. He stepped back, waiting until Sam was nude before pulling back the curtain. He kept his eyes on Sam’s face.

 

Sam stepped into the shower and Dean followed, grabbing one of washcloths from the rack on the way. He wet it and grabbed the soap, starting at Sam’s shoulders.

 

Sam leaned into the touch, his eyes fluttering shut. Dean washed over his back, scowling at all the knots in his shoulders. He turned Sam around then and began to wash over his chest, his gaze not leaving Sam’s face. Sam looked more content now, like the water was melting away the pain, at least a little.

 

He scrubbed Sam’s chest and arms, even his hands and face, before pressing the cloth into Sam’s hands. Sam’s eyes opened at the motion and he cocked his head a little. Dean motioned downward without looking. Sam smiled weakly, understanding, and began to wash while Dean stepped behind him.

 

While Sam was doing that, Dean washed Sam’s hair, carding his fingers through the shaggy mess. “This damn hair, man.”

 

“You love it.” Sam mumbled, leaning his head back for Dean to reach easier.

 

“Gonna look like a girl after too long.”

 

“Just shut up and wash.” Sam mumbled sleepily. Dean quieted down, pulling Sam under the spray to wash the shampoo out and the suds off his body. He let Sam relax under  the spray as he quickly washed himself, turning off the water just as it began to cool.

 

Stepping out, he grabbed a towel and passed it to Sam. “I’ll grab you some clean clothes,” he offered.

 

“Dean, I don’t have anything clean, it all either got burned in the fire or it reeks of smoke.”

 

“I’ve got some stuff that should fit you until we get to the laundromat.”

 

“Uh-huh… My hips are bigger than yours,” Sam said, like he had to spell it out.

 

“Right, they’re called sweatpants, Sammy.”

 

“ _ You _ own a pair of sweatpants?”

 

Dean scowled at him. “Shut up,” he muttered before wrapping his towel around his waist and heading into the main room. He returned shortly after in a pair of boxers, holding out clothes for Sam. “Here, these should fit.”

 

“Reminds me of when you were a little kid,” Dean admitted while Sam dressed, “Wearing my clothes because you wanted to be like me.”

 

“I guess it does,” Sam cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck, “Thank you, Dean, you’ve been a big help for me tonight.”

 

Dean shoved Sam out of the room. “Stop being a girl. Get to bed. And sleep,” he warned, giving him another shove toward his own bed.

 

Sam climbed into the bed, still watching Dean until he turned off the light.

 

“Night, Sammy,” Dean muttered before rolling over. Behind him, Dean could hear Sam move on the bed, rolling to his back.

 

Dean waited until Sam was snoring softly. He knew the laundromat down the street opened at six and figured Sam would like to have clean clothes when he woke up, so he snuck out the door with Sam’s duffel bag, got into the car, and drove off.

 

At the laundromat, Dean went through each of Sam’s clothes before he shoved them in the wash. Most made it out of the apartment with only ash or the smell of smoke, but some of Sam’s clothes had been close to the fire, and they had singeing on them. Sam hadn’t been in any state to go through clothes at the time—honestly Dean hadn’t even wanted him to go back into the apartment—but he’d went anyway and just grabbed what he could.

 

Dean set aside the ones that were physically damaged from the fire, not wanting to throw them out, but not wanting to wash them and risk ruining some of the other clothes  with the soot… He’d need to get Sam some new shirts.

 

At the bottom of the bag, Dean grabbed for a worn, grey shirt, but found a heavy item instead. He scooped it from the duffel and unwrapped it, his heart swelling when he saw what was inside. Sam had managed to grab both books that Dean had bought him for his birthday, as well as the age-worn copy of  _ The Picture of Dorian Grey _ that Dean had given him back when he’d turned ten.

 

The hardcover was a little charred on the back—it had been against the wall that had gotten a lot of damage—and all three books reeked like smoke, but they were in one piece. Dean opened up the hardcover. Sam had been so happy when he received this… He flipped another page, surprised to see a sheet of folded paper fall from the book. This hadn’t been in it originally; he’d made sure it was perfect before wrapping it for Sam. He started up the washer and sat down with the piece of paper, opening it carefully.

 

_ ‘I hate myself.’ _

 

Dean stopped reading, his eyes scanning over the paper, but not taking anything in. This was Sam’s writing; he’d recognize it anywhere. With a concerned scowl, he started back at the top, reading slowly.

 

_ ‘I hate myself. There are so many fucking reasons too. I’ve never kept a journal, or a diary, or whatever, but I need to get this off my chest… Even though I know you’ll never read it. _

 

_ I hate myself for loving you. I hate myself for even falling for you in the first place. You’re my big brother. You’re supposed to protect me and I’m supposed to annoy you, and there’s nothing more than that. But I had to go and make it weird. So, I hate myself for that. _

 

_ I hate myself for telling you. Even though you said you felt it too, it was different. You, you were a product of how we were raised. You were constantly around me, moving around so much meant you couldn’t have a steady girlfriend, and I was a big sissy back when I was a kid, of course your brain would get confused. I mean, I haven’t taken very many psychology classes, but I bet there’s a term for it. You weren’t sick, you were just a kid who didn’t have enough social interaction. _

 

_ Me on the other hand, I was sick. It wasn’t lack of social interaction; sure, I had that, but I wasn’t even interested in the girls at school. Or the boys for that matter. At least you showed an interest in them… It wasn’t just how we were raised. I was madly in love with you, and didn’t even try to stop it, I just ran away. I wish I’d kept running.    _

 

_ I hate myself for putting you in that place, where you’re my big brother and you feel like you have to keep me safe and happy, even if it means doing something you probably didn’t really want to do. _

 

_ I hate myself for falling even MORE in love with you. I knew it was happening the moment you kissed me on the roof. I could feel it in my heart and my head, my whole body lit up like I was on fire. I’d never felt that before, and I’d kissed plenty of people by that point. I knew I was lost as soon as I tasted my big brother’s mouth. I hate myself for not caring, for not stopping it… I let it happen, and it culminated in you, my own big brother, taking my virginity. _

 

_ I hate myself for not regretting it. I’m sad you moved on. I’m sad I moved on… But I don’t regret it. I look back on it with a certain fondness; I know I’ll never feel that way again, but at least I felt it once in my life, you know? _

 

_ I hate myself for loving Jess, because I’m lying to her too. She knows about you, sure, but she doesn’t know everything. She knows I’m bi, but she doesn’t know my cherry was popped by my big brother. I love her so much, but I will never truly be able to give my full heart to her no matter how long we’re together, because a part of it will always belong to you. _

 

_ I just fucking hate myself sometimes. And I know you’ll never read this, you’ll never know how long it took me to pick up this pen to write it… You’ll probably never see me again. Maybe someday, when I’m dead, if you live longer than me, you’ll find it. And if you do, or if someone finds it and tells you… I just want you to keep that piece of me safe, okay? Because I hate myself, but I love that part. I love that part because it’s yours. _

 

_ -Sammy 01/01/05 _

 

Dean’s breath escaped in a whoosh when he finished reading the note. He hadn’t even realized he’d been holding it. All of this… Sam had been hiding all of this, bottling up for so long. He was so wrong. Dean folded the paper carefully and tucked it back into Sam’s book, still not sure if he should bring this new knowledge to light and clear the air between them… With Jess’s death still lingering so freshly in their minds, it wasn’t the right time, he decided, beginning to read the paperback he’d passed down to his baby brother so long ago.


	11. Wendigo

**November 15** **th** **, 2005 (Sam’s age: 22)**

“Dude, it’s three in the morning. Aren’t you exhausted?” Dean asked when he woke from his nap to find Sam still speeding down the highway.

 

“Nope.” Sam’s snappy answer had Dean scowling.

 

“Pull over at the next rest stop. Get a few hours of sleep.”

 

“I’m fine, Dean,” Sam said, glancing at his brother in the dark.

 

“Right, you’re exhausted, and I’m not going to let you drive my car like that.”

 

“I’ve taken breaks.”

 

“Uh-huh. How many since we left Blackwater?”

 

“Twice.”

 

Dean grunted. “Sam, pull over. Please.”

 

“Dean!”

 

“No, Sam! I’m sick of this! You don’t sleep, you barely eat, I’m not gonna have you like this.”

 

“Whenever I close my eyes I see Jess burning!” Sam snapped at him, and Dean winced.

 

“Sam…” His voice softened and he reached over, setting his hand over Sam’s knee. “Please, just, for me? At least try to rest. You don’t have to sleep.”

 

Sam’s jaw twitched as he thought, but he nodded. “I’ll pull over at the next rest stop.”

 

Dean squeezed his knee. “Thank you, Sammy.”

 

“It’s Sam.”

 

Dean patted his leg before drawing his hand back, shuffling back into the position he was in before and closing his eyes again.

 

When Dean woke again, the car was stopped and he was alone. It took him a few moments to gather his bearings before he climbed out. They were at a truck stop, and Sam was sitting on a picnic table nearby looking so lost that Dean’s heart gave a low throb of pain as he walked over.

 

“Orion was a hunter, Sam… Just like us,” Dean said softly, sitting down at the bench. “He loved a girl… But a cruel man took her from him.”

 

“Dean…” Sam began.

 

Dean sat up and looked at Sam. “I’m sorry about Jess. I don’t think I’ve actually said that flat out, with no buts or excuses... I am so sorry.”

 

Sam’s eyes welled with fresh tears. He quickly wiped at them but Dean pushed his hands away. He climbed onto the table and sat Sam up, pulling him into his lap. “It’s okay, Sammy,” he whispered.

 

That phrase seemed to be enough. Dean gripped Sam tighter as Sam freed all the tears he’d been holding back, crying into Dean’s shoulder. His hands fisted Dean’s jacket in a death grip, and Dean carded his fingers through Sam’s hair to comfort him.

 

Sam’s body began to go lax in Dean’s arms, and a quick glance down told Dean he had fallen asleep. Good, Sam needed to sleep, even if it was on a picnic table.

 

Dean shuffled their bodies into a more comfortable position on the splintery wood table, allowing his own eyes to drift shut. He prayed they’d be able to get some sort of  night’s rest and tackle this the next morning.

 

They didn’t make it until morning, though. Within two hours, just as dawn broke over the horizon, Sam was screaming himself—and Dean—awake. He was breathing heavy, sitting up between Dean’s legs and looking around like a frightened animal.

 

Dean sat up slowly, stiff from the uncomfortable position, and set his hands on Sam’s heaving shoulders. “Breathe, Sammy… I got you,” he murmured.

 

Sam turned to Dean. “I wish you hadn’t let me fall asleep,” he said, sliding off the bench.

 

“You needed it.”

 

“I need it like I need a hole in my head, Dean,” Sam called back as he walked toward the bathrooms.

 


	12. Bloody Mary

**January 3** **rd** **, 2006 (Sam’s age: 22)**

“Sam. Hey, spacey.” Dean waved his hand in front of Sam’s face. Sam shook his head, snapping out of whatever daydream he was in.

 

“What?”

 

“We’re gonna stop for the night. Want a hotel or a rest stop?”

 

“Rest stop is fine.”

 

“You gonna actually sleep?”

 

“Nah, still wired from the stupid Bloody Mary crap.” Sam shuddered a little as he said her name, glancing nervously in the side mirror.

 

Dean reached over and squeezed Sam’s leg, about mid-thigh. “She’s gone, we got her. No need to worry... You sure you don’t wanna talk to me? About that secret?”

 

“Yeah. I’m sure.”

 

“Sam—“

 

“Dean, I already gave you my reasons. If you really care, don’t push.”

 

Dean thought for a long moment before nodding. “Fine… But you try to get sleep, okay?”

 

“Yes, parent,” Sam muttered, but not without a hint of humor in his voice.

 

Dean nodded, heading toward a rest stop coming up. He parked in a far corner. “Wanna hop in the back?” he offered.

 

Sam shook his head. “Nah, you take it.”

 

“Sam…”

 

“I can sleep up front,” Sam assured him. Dean sighed and got out, sliding into the back seat and stretching out. Sam stretched his legs in the front seat, leaning on the door.

 

“Sammy…”

 

“Hm?”

 

Dean sat up and reached over, touching Sam’s arm. “You’re gonna be okay.”

 

Sam set his hand over Dean’s. “I thought you didn’t wanna have chick flick moments.”

 

“This isn’t a chick flick moment, you ass. It’s me taking care of my brother.”

 

Sam wiggled down further. “Happy?”

 

“Here,” was Dean’s reply, and he held out a blanket from the back.

 

“You’re gonna freeze,” Sam argued.

 

“Then climb back here with me.” Dean shrugged, his voice muffled by his own coat, where he’d tucked his nose and mouth in an effort to keep warm.

“We are too damn big to share a backseat.”

 

“Then we should get a hotel room,” Dean said.

 

Sam sighed loudly and sat up, looking at Dean. “Town is like fifty miles. You gonna whine if I drive?”

 

“Nope, I’m gonna sleep,” Dean muttered with his eyes shut. Sam reached across the seat and dipped his fingers into Dean’s front pocket. Dean sat up, slapping Sam’s arm.

 

“Give me the keys, dumbass.”

 

“You could’ve asked,” Dean mumbled, fishing the keys from his pocket and tossing them at Sam.

 

Sam caught them easily. “Looking for an excuse to grope you, I guess,” Sam teased, his voice quiet. Dean scowled, staring at the back of Sam’s head as he started the car and began to drive.

 

The letter still burned in his mind, but he hadn’t brought it up to Sam; things were still too rough, he was still having nightmares about Jess. But this was the first time since they’d been back on the road together that Sam had, even jokingly, mentioned anything more than brotherly between the two. Maybe it was getting to be the time to discuss their relationship after all.

 

 

**January 24** **th** **, 2006 (Sam’s age: 22)**

Dean’s lips curved into that heartbreaker smile around the rim of his shotglass. He took the third shot in a row and slid his chair back. “Be right back. We need more shots.”

 

“You know I’m gonna be carrying your ass home if you get too wasted,” Sam scolded without much annoyance in his voice.

 

Dean shrugged. “It’s my birthday.”

 

“Uh-huh.” Sam shook his head as Dean rose, heading to the bar.

 

Just as Sam predicted, he was nearly dragging his big brother home at two in the morning, listening to Dean slur lascivious, tequila-laced suggestions in his ear. Sam ignored the majority of them, though at the suggestion that he ‘bend over and take it like a good boy’, his cock jumped, eager to get back into the game.

 

Sam dropped Dean onto his bed, but Dean immediately began to scramble up, grabbing for Sam. Taking advantage of his size, Sam straddled Dean’s hips, facing his legs, and began to untie Dean’s boots. Sam gave a surprised yelp when Dean grabbed his hips and pushed his cock tightly against Sam’s ass.

 

“Dean, stop it,” Sam said firmly as he tossed the boots aside and got off Dean. He pushed him back down. “If you wanted that, there were plenty of girls you could’ve taken back here if you weren’t so drunk.”

 

Dean blinked at him, looking a little hurt, even in his drunk state. “I don’t want a girl, Sammy,” he mumbled, “I want you.”

 

Sam’s chest ached at the words. He pulled the blanket over his brother and sat on the other bed. “Go to sleep, Dean,” he replied, stretching out and sighing to himself, but Dean continued to speak.

 

“I read your note, Sammy… I read how much you hate everything we did because you don’t hate it, and I want to make it better. I want you back.”

 

Sam stayed silent, swallowing back the lump that rose in his throat. He feared what Dean was going to say next, so he couldn’t hold back the sigh of relief when the only thing he heard from the bed next to him was a long, low snore. He rolled to his side, feeling sick to his stomach.

 

The next morning, much to Sam’s relief, Dean didn’t seem to remember anything he’d confessed the previous night. He decided not to bring it up, it was obviously something Dean had been sitting on a while, and Sam wasn’t about to push a topic like that, not when he wasn’t even sure he was  _ ready _ to talk about it again.


	13. Bugs

**March 23** **rd** **, 2006 (Sam’s age: 22)**

Sam stretched out on the makeshift bed in the living room and stared up at the ceiling, thinking about the past few months.

 

It had been a whirlwind with cases and searching for any sign of Dad on their downtime—there hadn’t been much chance to think about what had happened with Jess, and the nightmares were only just beginning to fade. After the Bloody Mary case, Sam had come to the realization that he needed to let Jess go or her death was going to consume him—like the death of his mother had consumed his dad.

 

Dean was his saving grace through everything—even if Dean didn’t realize it— but the more Sam relied on him, the stronger the feelings he had for him grew. It was like he couldn’t get past it. Working with Dean and not letting dirty thoughts get in the way was impossible, and he found himself watching Dean—his Orion—more and more.

 

What was strange, though, was that the more he opened himself to Dean, the more Dean closed himself off. Every time he would touch him, Dean would step away; every time he would try to get close, Dean would back off; every time Sam would try to talk about that night, Dean would change the subject. It was infuriating, and heartbreaking. As much as he hated the thought, Sam couldn’t help thinking maybe he had been right when he’d said it was just a fling for Dean, and maybe he didn’t mean as much to his big brother as he thought.

 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Dean said, startling Sam.

 

“What? No, um, nothing, just zoning out.” Sam muttered, watching Dean stretch out on the other side of the room. “It’s a little cold, huh?” Sam began after a moment of silence.

 

“A little… Need another blanket?”

 

“Nah, we got ‘em split evenly. Give me any more and you’ll freeze.” Sam rolled to his side, away from Dean, and tucked the blanket further over his shoulders.

 

There was a rustle as Sam heard Dean’s heavy steps, then felt the weight of two more blankets drop over his body before Dean stretched out behind him.

 

“Come here.”

 

Sam lifted the blankets and wiggled closer to Dean to press their bodies together.

 

“I’m too big to be the little spoon,” he teased.

 

“Shut up and go to sleep, Sammy.” Dean’s arm curled around his middle. Sam relaxed in Dean’s arms. It felt like he fit there, fit there more than anywhere else he’d tried to. He slid his hand down to set it over Dean’s as he drifted to sleep.

 

Dean pulled his hand back, yanked him from his reverie.

 

“Don’t make it weird, dude,” Dean muttered, then rolled over, so his warm back pressed against Sam—whose heart sank as a new kind of cold settled into his bones.

 

 

**April 15** **th** **, 2006 (Sam’s age: 22)**

Sam and Dean had been on the road for a few hours with a comfortable silence stretching between them. Things had been rough the past few weeks after Dean’s withdrawal in Oasis Plains, then Sam’s admittance of the biggest secret of his life and their huge fight in Rockford. They’d finally seemed to find common ground after separating before Burkittsville.

 

Sam had thought he’d been in the right by leaving Dean to search for their dad in California, but he hadn’t been. He needed Dean even when they were at each other’s throats, because even then they helped keep each other human.

 

“Hey, Sam,” Dean finally spoke up, “What you said, about sticking together…”

 

“What about it?” Sam mumbled sleepily.

 

“Thanks. For saying that.”

 

Sam’s eyes opened and he looked over at Dean in confusion. “Why are you thanking me?”

 

Dean sighed a little. “I just… Sometimes I feel so damn bad for pulling you back into this whole thing. I feel like right now, you’re stuck with me—like we have nothing in common anymore—if we ever did—and now… I don’t know.”

 

Sam reached over to set his hand on Dean’s thigh. “I get it. I know things have been rough, and I haven’t been super easy on you lately. We’ll figure it out.”

 

Dean seemed to hesitate before pulling the Impala over and getting out. He didn’t make it far, just leaned against the door and smirked down at Sam. “Thanks Sam… But you’re still a hormonal girl.” Sam threw Dean what Dean always called his ‘bitchface’.

 

“Girl or not, I still saved you from that scarecrow,” he defended as they headed to the bathroom.

 

Dean threw a punch at Sam’s shoulder. It connected, sending a sharp rush of pain down Sam’s arm and knocking him a few feet to the side.

 

“You ass!” Sam shouted as he lunged at Dean. They fell to the grass, rolling and swinging at each other while both wore grins and laughed between their grunts.

 

The two lay side by side on the grass as the sun dipped below the horizon, turning everything a soft orange. The grass tickled Sam’s arms and wrists as he watched the sky—the world silent save for their steady breathing.

 

“We need to get going.” Dean said, but Sam saw no effort to get up.

 

“Yep,” Sam agreed, turning his head to look over at his brother. “That was fun.”

 

“Only sayin’ that ‘cause I let you win,” Dean argued.

 

“It’s been a while since we did that.”

 

“Yeah,” Dean grunted, but Sam could see his smile lighting up that beautiful freckled face even in the dying light.

 

Sam knew that even a stranger could see how his face read adoration and love, but he couldn’t bring himself to care at that moment as he brushed grass from his jeans and held out his hand for Dean to take.

****


	14. Not the Same

**May 2** **nd** **, 2006 (Sam’s age: 23)**

They dropped their bags in the motel room, and Sam began to laugh. “I can’t believe you.”

 

“What? It’s your birthday, I had to give my little brother something.”

 

“Give me something? Dude, you almost made me piss myself,” Sam complained, stripping out of his shirts.

 

Earlier that evening, Dean had dropped Sam off at the bar to pick up a few bottles of booze. Even though Sam hadn’t wanted to, Dean had insisted that they do something for his birthday, especially since he’d missed Sam’s twenty-first.

 

Sam emerged from the liquor store with a bag against his chest and looked around for the Impala. He didn’t expect it to come at him, or the roar of the engine to be so close. Dean had been waiting—like a cat at a mouse hole. The Impala charged forward, a black gleam in the sunlight, and Sam stumbled back in shock. Gravel crunched under the tires as they fought for traction, and the car jerked forward at the sudden stop just inches away from Sam’s knees. His heartbeat pounded in his ears as he stared at Dean through the windshield. He looked down, seeing his own terrified reflection staring back up at him.

 

Dean was the biggest asshole in the world.

“You know, if you’d been a second too late, I would’ve been roadkill,” Sam said as he stretched out on his bed, a glass of whiskey in hand.

 

“Uh-huh, but I’ve got good brakes. Quit whining,”

 

Instead of sitting on his own bed, he was stretched out next to Sam and sipping his own drink.

 

“So, what does Sammy really want for his birthday?” Dean asked after a pause.

 

“For his brother to stop calling him Sammy,” Sam mumbled. “No, really, nothing. I mean, we’re on the road so much, we shouldn’t gather too much crap.”

 

“You’ve still got those books,”

 

Sam froze at Dean’s words, the rim of the glass barely touching his lips. “How do you know that?” he asked softly, eyes leveled on Dean.

 

“The night that Jess died… You remember I took your clothes to wash ‘em. I found the books, the ones I gave you when you turned twenty and the one from when you turned ten, in your bag.”

 

Sam nodded. “I know you did. You already said that. That you found my writing.”

 

“Right… My birthday. I was kinda drunk.”

 

“Dude, you were humping me while I was taking off your boots… I’d say kinda drunk is an understatement.”

 

Dean flushed a little. “Right, I uh… I’m sorry about that, Sammy. I know you’re still getting over Jess, I woulda never done that if I’d been sober.”

 

“I know, but… I was glad you did at the time.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Yeah, I mean… Even though I was—am—still pretty broken up over Jess’ death, I—it made things seem not so bad, like… maybe, we could—”

 

“Sam, we can’t,” Dean broke in quickly, and Sam withdrew a little. He wanted to ask why not, what would be so wrong with them picking up where they left off, but he couldn’t.

 

“Either way, it doesn’t matter. I’m alive, you’re alive, Dad’s alive, and that’s all I need for my birthday,” Sam said softly, finishing his drink and setting the glass aside. “I’m going to bed.”

 

“Hey.” Dean’s touch to Sam’s shoulder burned like fire when he settled into the blankets. “You wanna go look at stars before you do? Orion might still be out.”

 

Sam was quiet a moment. A huge part of him wanted to say yes; he wanted Dean to hold him close, to tell him stories and make him forget about everything shitty that had been happening, but he shook his head instead. “Nah, I’m too tired… And we’re getting a little too old for that, aren’t we, Dean?”

 

Dean got up from the bed and stretched out in his own. “Yeah, guess so,” he muttered into the dark, so quiet that Sam almost didn’t hear.

 


	15. The Truth About Cassie

**May 10** **th** **, 2006 (Sam’s age: 23)**

Dean looked over at Sam, who’d been quiet and tense since they’d left Missouri. Aside from the few words they’d shared where Dean said he liked Cassie, Sam hadn’t spoken, simply focusing on driving in silence.

 

“Sam, you’re scarin’ me.” Dean finally said.

 

“Why?” Sam asked, not looking at Dean.

 

“Because you’re goin’ ninety, there’s no music playing, and you have that look.”

 

Sam finally glanced over at Dean, easing his foot off the gas gently. “Sorry, didn’t realize I was going that fast. You can put on some music, I don’t care.”

 

Dean sat up further and turned his torso to face Sam. “Dude, what crawled up your ass?”

 

“Nothing, Dean, I’m fine.” Sam looked at him again with confusion.

 

“You’ve had that sour expression on your face since we left Cassie’s place, so talk to me.”

 

“You said you were taking a nap,” Sam muttered.

 

“Uh-huh, couldn’t sleep. The air in the car’s just a bit too icy.” Sam looked like he was trying to ignore him, but Dean caught the profile of his bitchface.

 

“I mean it, Sam. What the hell is wrong with you? Did I do something?”

 

“No, you didn’t,” Sam snipped.

 

“Sure. Right. Well, pull over at the next damn rest stop. I’m driving.”

 

Sam stayed silent until they reached a rest stop. Dean stared at him as he got out and headed to the bathroom, unnerved at seeing Sam this way. Though grumpiness was common with Sam, he’d never been snippy and mean like this, not to Dean directly.

 

Dean slid into the driver’s seat, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

 

When Sam emerged and slid into the car, Dean turned it off and pocketed the keys. He turned to face Sam. “Talk.”

 

“What? Dean, drive,” Sam muttered, sparing a glance in Dean’s direction.

 

“Something is wrong, and while I don’t normally give a shit about your hormonal whatevers, this is ridiculous. You’re giving me the chills with how you’re acting. So friggin’ talk. Something happened in Missouri that’s got you pissy.”

 

“Yeah, fine.” Sam muttered. “Something happened in Missouri, can we go?”

 

“What happened?”

“You did! Now drive, Dean!” Sam snapped, finally turning to face him while Dean stared him down.

 

“I happened?” He was silent to process the words before his jaw went a little slack as it clicked. “Cassie. You—you’re jealous.”

 

“I’m not jealous,” Sam mumbled, turning his head downward until his hair hid his expression.

 

“You are! You’re jealous of Cassie.”

 

“How long after you fucked me did you go to her, Dean? How long did it take you to get over me?” Sam asked, his voice shaking.

 

The silence stretched between them; Dean felt the air get thicker with tension as he looked at the profile of Sam, unable to come up with an answer that wouldn’t hurt him.

 

Sam finally looked up with tears in his eyes. “That soon, huh?” His laughter sounded bitter to Dean’s ears even as Sam shook his head and muttered, “I’m sorry, it doesn’t matter.”

 

“Yeah, it does, Sam. I never meant to hurt you.”

 

“You never meant me to find out about her… How soon, Dean?”

 

“After I healed up from the wendigo… About three months after.” Dean finally admitted, his voice soft. Sam huffed. He nodded as he blinked away the tears.

 

“So that’s why you didn’t call.”

 

“No, I—”

 

“It’s fine, Dean. I’m over it, I get it. You moved on, so did I. You did it a little faster than me, but, uh, I’m happy for you.”

 

“Sam, it wasn’t like that,” Dean tried again, and Sam turned on him, giving him an incredulous look.

 

“I saw the way you look at her, Dean. You’re in love with her. I’m just sorry you couldn’t stay with her. I am.”

 

Dean’s shoulders slumped a little, “I don’t know if I’d call it love. I mean, I care about her, but you’ll always come first.”

 

“Because I’m your brother. I know… Come on, let’s just go, okay?”

 

Dean was silent for a moment, watching Sam, but Sam wouldn’t look back at him; he just stared out the passenger window, silent and still. With a sigh, Dean started the car again and pulled back out onto the highway.

 

 

**May 11** **th** **, 2006 (Sam’s age: 23)**

Sam was nearly asleep when he heard the first sniffle coming from Dean’s bed. He ignored it at first, but when he heard a few more, he rolled over, sitting up. “Dean?”

 

Dean sniffled and shifted. “I thought you were asleep.”

 

“Are you crying?”

“What? No.” Sam scowled at Dean’s obvious lie and got up, moving to Dean’s bed. He turned on the lamp between the beds and set a hand on his brother’s shoulder.

 

“De—” he whispered, and he heard Dean grunt softly. It was the first time Sam had used his pet name since they’d been back on the road. “Dean, look at me.”

 

“Go to bed, Sammy,” Dean whispered, his voice shaky as he shifted and buried his face harder into the pillow.

 

“Not a chance. My big brother doesn’t cry. So when he does, we’ve got a problem. Is it Cassie?”

 

“I don’t want to talk about it, Sam.”

 

“It is then… Dude, come on, talking to me won’t make you grow a vagina overnight.”

 

Sam stared at Dean’s still form for a long time before he felt Dean shift. He moved to let Dean roll onto his back, and he met Sam’s gaze before speaking, “It’s Cassie, and you.”

 

“Me? Did I—” Sam hesitated. “I shouldn’t have freaked this afternoon, I’m sorry, Dean.”

 

“No, you were right. I really messed up with you.”

 

Sam hid the hurt at Dean’s words as well as he could, under the assumption that Dean had meant he never should have had sex with him. Instead, he shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, Dean. I mean, it’s in the past. It’s not a big deal. What you and Cassie had, it was really sweet, and I liked seeing it. It was a glimpse into your life if you weren’t a hunter.”

 

Dean snorted. “I fucked up with her too, Sam.”

 

“No, you’re just a hunter and this life is hard.”

 

“Since when are you friggin’ Dr. Phil? Go away, Sam, go to bed.”

 

Sam sighed heavily. “Why don’t you just lemme help?”

 

Dean shot up fast enough that Sam had to move backwards on the bed or risk being head-butted. “How can you help? Huh, Sam? Tell me, what can you do?” Dean snapped.

 

Sam kept a steady face and shrugged. “Sometimes talking about it helps.”

 

“Doesn’t help me. Leave me alone.”

 

“You’ve never tried, Dean. I know that much.”

 

“What do you want me to say? That I’m heartbroken over Cassie? That I wish I could give up hunting and stay with her in some normal, boring life? That I want to give  her rugrats and a house? Or maybe that I’m regretting dating her? Do you secretly hope I feel like crap for sleeping with her?”

 

“Is any of that how you feel?” Sam asked, keeping his voice gentle.

 

“No! It isn’t! I don’t know how I feel, Sam, I—” His voice broke then, “I mean… I…”

 

“You loved her—maybe still do. I get it,” Sam said softly. His heart ached in the worst way just saying those words, but this wasn’t about him. This was about his big brother grieving over a love lost.

 

“No. I mean—maybe?” Dean hung his head. “I really felt happy with her, like nothing mattered… I felt like I could even give up hunting someday. But it wasn’t right. There was something missing. I had to go back… I guess I let us break up. I mean, I know she dumped me, but I didn’t do anything to stop it.”

 

Sam sat quietly as he listened to his brother speak. When Dean finished, he reached out to touch Dean’s arm. “I’m sorry you felt like that, Dean. This life is so hard to get out of, I mean, I know that as well as anyone. Someday though, someday you’ll get out. Maybe go back to Cassie, or find a beautiful woman to have kids with. Have a normal, healthy family. Don’t lose hope that that’s possible.”

 

Dean didn’t speak for a moment, his head still lowered. When he did look up he was grinning crookedly, “Aw, Sammy… Such a way with words. Getting butterflies in my belly,” he teased, and Sam rolled his eyes.

 

He punched Dean in the arm. “You’re such a friggin’ jerk.”

 

“Yeah, I know.” Sam rose, still shaking his head, and moved back to his own bed. Before he could sit, Dean snagged his wrist. “Would you, maybe, I mean, if you wanted to, or, it’d be nice if—“

 

“Yeah, Dean. Move over,” Sam whispered, instantly understanding. There was something between them —born from familiarity and time—that made it so that Sam always seemed to understand Dean. His brother, who sucked with words and was allergic to feelings, who thought throwing a punch was easier than laughing, and who he loved more than anything.

 

Sam shoved the feelings down, deep into his brain, and buried them with the pain he felt when Dean left the last time. Maybe that would be enough to keep them from creeping up on him again.

 

 **Sam curled into bed with Dean, lying with a few inches between them, and flipped off the light. “Night, De.”**  


	16. Everything's Changing

**August 13** **th** **, 2006 (Sam’s age: 23)**

Dean had known something was wrong with his Dad the second he had ended that bickering match in the hospital. Over the years, Dean had realized that Sam and their dad’s arguments were a form of affection that only they understood. It was the norm, even though Dean still wasn’t used to it and tried to break them up.

 

His unease had only increased as his dad spoke to him privately, converging into a nauseated feeling in the pit of his stomach at the last words his father ever spoke to him.

 

Sam had asked, of course he had, but Dean couldn’t bring himself to say anything. Not a damn thing. He continued to focus on it though, his father’s final words to him echoing in his head like a painful church bell.

 

_ “I know what you and Sam are… I know how you love him so much more deeply than a brother should… So I know you’ll take care of him… You have to save Sammy, Dean, no matter what… And if you can’t, no matter how much you love him, in whatever way you love him… If you can’t save him, you will have to kill him.” _

 

Lying in bed over the following days, there were a few times Dean had considered telling Sam that their father knew the truth about them. He thought about their childhood, about what could have possibly happened that could have given it away. Maybe it was when they’d met up with their Dad after Stanford; Sam did have a hard time hiding his feelings. Dean supposed he’d never know now that the demon had taken their father away.

 

The worst thing about this situation, Dean thought as he lay in their crappy motel room in Wisconsin, was how Sam was dealing with their father’s death. Sure, he knew he wasn’t coping as well as he could—avoidance had always been his tactic—but Sam had completely changed.

 

It seemed that all of his life, Sam had enjoyed doing things he knew would irritate their father. Even simple things like refusing to run laps or reading a book for school instead of a book on some supernatural creature, it was Sam’s form of rebellion.

 

He thought back to the earliest rebellion he could remember by his little brother.

 

 

**October 15** **th** **, 1996 (Sam’s age: 13)**

Dean whined and shoved Sam off his legs, “Lemme sleep, it’s Sunday.”

 

“Come on, Dean, you promised me you’d take me to the library today.”

 

“Have Dad take you,” Dean muttered.

 

“Dad’s asleep. Come on, De,  _ please _ ,” Sam whined, tugging the blanket down and away from Dean’s body.

 

This jolted Dean up. He snagged the blanket back seconds before Sam revealed his entirely naked body to the cold morning air of the room. “Fine! Jesus, Sam. Get out and lemme dress.”

 

“I’m pouring water on your head if you’re not out in ten minutes,” Sam pouted. Even at thirteen, Sam used those big puppy eyes and Dean fell for them every time.

 

All thoughts of going back to sleep slipped out of Dean’s mind when he saw them. “Fine. We’ll go to breakfast first.” Sam bounced off the bed and vanished around the corner.

 

Dean glanced over to where their dad was passed out on the next bed with an empty bottle in his loose grip. He sighed sadly as he sat up, snagging his boxers and tugging them on before throwing off the covers.

 

He hadn’t even heard his father come in from the hunt last night, the hunt he hadn’t been allowed to go on, much to Dean’s chagrin.  _ “You’re missing too much damn school and Sam is starting to whine. So stay put and take care of your brother,” _ had been his father’s argument when Dean complained about being stuck in the hotel instead of hunting.

 

It wasn’t that Dean disliked caring for Sam. If he was being honest with himself, he knew he’d always care for Sam above everything else. He knew the feelings he had for his baby brother weren’t right; he was seventeen for godsake, and Sam was just hitting puberty at thirteen, but goddamned if he wasn’t the most beautiful boy Dean had ever seen. He couldn’t wait to see what Sam would look like when he had grown into those too-long limbs and clumsy feet.

 

Dean had just finished pulling his boots on when their father snorted himself awake, just enough to stare at Dean blearily.

 

“Where’s Sam?” he rasped.

 

“Outside. I’m taking him to the library… Big project on something, I have no idea.” Dean shrugged as John sat up and tossed the empty bottle in the garbage.

 

“Not today. I want you boys out running laps and working on guns today.”

 

“Dad, Sam’s project is due in two days. I’ve already blown him off for a week.”

 

“This is more important.”

 

Dean wanted to argue with his father; Sam was getting straight A’s in this school and was really enjoying it, but Dean knew better than to argue. “Yes sir, I’ll let him know,” he muttered instead.

 

He stepped outside to where Sam was waiting for him, but not wanting to have this argument where their Dad could see, Dean took Sam’s wrist and led him around the back of the Impala.

 

“Ready to go?” Sam asked eagerly, but scowled when Dean slouched against the trunk and pulled a bent joint from his jeans. He lit it up and took a drag before he spoke.

 

“Dad isn’t gonna let me take you to the library.”

 

“What? Why?” Sam stood up, ready to argue. Dean lifted his hands, the joint hanging from his lips.

 

“Don’t snap at me, brat. It’s Dad’s decision. He wants us to train.”

 

“But I have to finish this project, Dean!” Sam whined.

 

Dean shrugged. “I’m sorry, Sammy, you know we gotta do what Dad says.”

 

“Says who?” Sam scowled. “I’m going.”

 

“I can’t let you do that, Sam.”

 

“What’re you gonna do?” Sam challenged. His face settled into his already patented bitchface and he braced his legs, staring up at Dean.

 

Dean sighed, pinching out the joint and putting it in his jeans. “Sam, please don’t make this hard.”

 

“Just tell Dad I left already.” Sam muttered angrily, grabbing his bag and walking toward the road before Dean realized what was happening.

 

“Sam! Come on! It’s four miles to the library!”

 

“Then I’ll get my laps in!” Sam called back, not stopping.

 

 

**August 13** **th** **, 2006 (Sam’s age: 23)**

Dean sighed at the memory of his little brother, who was hardheaded and arrogant even at such a young age. The love he’d felt back then had made his heart ache. He’d felt like he was so wrong back then, and it stayed like that all the way up until that night in Sam’s dorm room.

 

He looked over at Sam in the next bed. He was just a lump under the covers, the only visible part of his body a thatch of fluffy dark hair and the peek of one bare,  tanned shoulder. His heart gave another ache, a physical pain that only seemed to increase when he considered saying something to Sam about his feelings.

 

Sam was getting over Jess more and more every day, which Dean knew had to be hard, but he couldn’t bring himself to talk about it unless Sam brought it up. But now with their father gone, Sam had gone on a rampage. He completely changed his actions and his plans; even the way he spoke reminded Dean of their dad. It hurt watching Sam self-destruct in so many ways and for so many reasons.

 

Dean wanted to pull Sam into his arms, tell him it’d be okay, tell him that he loved him and wanted him to give in—to be his again. He wanted to tell Sam the truth  about what their Dad had said: that he knew about them, and that Dean had to save Sam.

 

But with how Sam was acting—so eager to please their father even past death; agreeing to hunts; giving cold, calculated remarks instead of his normal emotionally charged ones; it wouldn’t have been right. Dean knew Sam would push him away with a comment similar to, ‘Dad wouldn’t have liked this’ or ‘this would have disappointed Dad.’

 

Dean rolled over, facing away from his baby brother in the next bed and shut his eyes, trying once more for some version of a restful sleep.

 


	17. Playthings

**January 7** **th** **, 2007 (Sam’s age: 23)**

The Impala was uncomfortably warm after an hour on the road as they attempted to put the Pierpont Inn as far into their rearview as they could. The case had been successful, they saved the little girl and the mom, but Dean still felt like he’d failed in some major way.

 

Sam hadn’t spoken after his final words at the inn, and Dean could feel the weight of his silence smothering him like a fleece blanket. To try and cut through some of the tension, Dean reached over and fiddled with the heat for the fifth time in twenty minutes before he let his hand drop to the volume control. He turned it up, then down again, then shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. He knew he should say something—this silence was killing him—and he opened his mouth to speak, but he realized there was nothing he  _ could  _ say. So, his hand went back to the radio knob.

 

The events of the night before still rang loudly in Dean’s mind: from Sam’s pleading and begging for Dean to kill him if it came to that, to his brazen drunkenness—something Sam never did on a case. It all hurt so much more than Dean could have ever expected.

 

He knew Sam would take their father’s final words to heart, and he had regretted admitting the truth as soon as the words were out of his mouth, but Sam had a right to know, especially after everything that went down over the past few months. He’d nearly lost his baby brother, not once but twice, and it was the most terrifying feeling he’d ever experienced.

 

Dean cleared his throat again, finally speaking. “How much of last night do you remember?”

 

“All of it.” Sam answered simply, his eyes glued to the rain-splattered window. Dean glanced over at him, his heart giving a fond ache when his eyes instinctively traced Sam’s jawline; he was tense, Dean could see that even in the quickly fading light.

 

“Should we get a motel for the night?” he asked after a moment.

 

Sam’s headshake was barely perceptible. “No, I can drive if you want to sleep.”

 

Dean sighed a little. “I don’t want to sleep, I’m not tired. But you look beat.”

 

“Can sleep in the car.”

 

“What’s with the friggin’ answers, Sam? Am I sitting next to a robot? Look at me, would ya?”

 

Sam looked over at Dean, his eyes narrowed and the start of a bitchface curling his mouth downward. “What? Want me to call you sir, too? You going to scold me like Dad used to when I was being moody?”

 

Dean looked at Sam again in surprise. “Whoa, hey, why’re you picking a fight with me? I didn’t do anything.”

 

“Except keep Dad’s final words from me for months. Then refuse to agree to something that  _ he _ made you promise until I dragged it out of you.”

 

“You were drunk and Dad is an ass, I still hold to that statement. I’m not gonna kill you, Sammy.”

 

“You  _ promised _ ,” Sam stressed. Dean sighed, his fingers tightening on the steering wheel.

 

“I promised because you were drunk and you needed to sleep it off. I knew you wouldn’t go to sleep until I gave an answer that satisfied you,” he explained calmly, surprising himself.

 

“So you lied. Again.”

 

“Yeah, you know what? I did! Because I’m not gonna kill you, Sam. I’m gonna save you. Because I care for you more than anyone I’ve ever cared about before, got it? You’re not gonna die.”

 

“Then you will,” Sam muttered.

 

Dean clenched his jaw, torn between socking his brother in the face or kissing his argumentative mouth. “Sam—“

 

“No, it’s fine. At this point, I’m used to it,” Sam spat, crossing his arms and looking back out the side window.

 

“Sam. It’s not fine. And I didn’t lie to you.”

 

“Right, what would you call it then?”

 

“Come on. How many times have you and me talked and made promises while we were drunk that never happened?”

 

Sam stayed silent after Dean’s question, but Dean stole a glance from the corner of his eye that told him Sam’s face was troubled.

 

“Sam. I can hear you thinking.”

 

“Just trying to think if we’ve ever lied to each other about something before… Drunk, you know.”

 

“We have, I’m sure. It just happens. Doubt you’d remember it.”

 

“Yeah, aside from last night, I can think of once.”

 

It was Dean’s turn to scowl. “When?” Sam didn’t answer, so Dean tried again. “When, Sammy?”

 

“When you said you were okay with what we did… Where we were going.”

 

“I wasn’t drunk, and I didn’t lie when I said that.”

 

“Sure, then why did you push me away last night? Dean, it took everything I had to bare myself enough to try and kiss you—“

 

“You were wasted, Sammy! What kind of guy do you think I am that I’d take advantage of you like that? Plus, I didn’t know what you were doing. You’ve been pushing me away for months since Dad died so I figured you wanted nothing to do with me!”

 

“You know that would never be true, Dean… You know damn well I never got over you.” Sam said, bringing his arms across his chest.

 

“Yeah, coulda fooled me, Sam.” Dean snapped, white knuckling the steering wheel. When Sam didn’t reply, Dean growled, turned up the music and brought  his foot down harder on the gas.


	18. It's Not Just Madison

**March 6** **th** **, 2007 (Sam’s age: 23)**

“Sammy… You sure you’re okay?” Dean asked for the fifth time as they lay in their separate motel beds. Sam’s shoulders lifted and dropped briefly, just as they had the other four times Dean had questioned him.

 

Dean could hear Sam’s muffled weeping against his pillow or possibly against his arm; Dean couldn’t tell from his position on his own bed. He sat up slowly and moved to Sam’s bed, touching his shoulder. “Sammy, talk to me.”

 

Sam shifted, burying his face in his pillow. “Go away and let me sleep,” he muttered.

 

“You ain’t gonna sleep when you’re crying like that… Come on, Sammy. I don’t like seeing you hurting.”

 

“It’s Sam. And it’s the job, isn’t it? We gotta do what we gotta do. Save people.”

 

“Yeah, but—“

 

“But nothing. She was a case. It was my fault for getting emotionally involved.”

 

Dean’s entire body jerked in a heavy sigh. “Sam, come on… You and I both know you don’t believe that.”

 

Sam turned to face Dean, his eyes red rimmed and bloodshot from crying. Dean wiped a stray tear from his brother’s cheek.

 

“It’s okay to be sad about it… I know she meant a lot to you… Probably the first girl since Jess—“

 

“Don’t. Don’t bring her up right now, Dean.”

 

“Sam, you can’t keep all this crap bottled up.”

 

“You do.”

 

“Yeah, but you aren’t me. You’ll never be me, no matter how hard you try. That’s a good thing. You’re, I don’t know, in touch with your emotions or whatever. You keep me grounded.”

 

Sam shook his head, wiping his face, “I don’t want to talk, Dean. I can’t.”

 

“Yes, you can, Sam. You’ve always been a talker.”

 

Dean reached out to brush his thumb over Sam’s cheekbone. “I know you fell for her hard. Trust me, I get it. I’m sorry we couldn’t save her, Sammy.”

 

Sam broke then, leaning into Dean’s arms while a pained sob wracked his body. Dean winced and wrapped his arms around Sam’s shoulders, resting his chin lightly on the top of his head, hating to see his little brother in such a state. There was nothing he could say so he stayed silent, letting Sam cry against his chest. Under normal circumstances he’d tease him and make some sort of joke about being girly or crying too much, but this wasn’t the time.

 

So, he simply held him. Moments in their lives flashed in Dean’s mind: holding Sam’s small body to him as he watched the fire destroy their home, reaching out for Sam as he took those first stumbling steps to land in Dean’s arms, holding Sam’s warm body to him after they made love the first time, and then dragging Sam from the fire that killed Jess. The onslaught of memories caused him to tighten his grip on Sam’s shoulders. Sam’s hair tickled his chin as Sam raised his head to nuzzle his nose and wet cheek against the scruff of Dean’s neck.

 

Dean moved them down until they were curled together on the bed and pulled the blankets over their bodies. He relaxed his grip on Sam so he could run soothing hands over his back. Sam was still sniffling as his earlier tears dried up and his breath evened out.

 

When Sam’s lips pressed against his pulse in a chaste kiss, a throb of need pulsed in Dean’s stomach. Closing his eyes to steady himself, he pulled back and looked down at Sam, whose eyes were filled with a deep sadness. The need he’d originally felt disappeared in a split second and he simply ached deep down, knowing what Sam was feeling. He reached out and ran his calloused thumb over Sam’s cheek, a weak attempt at comfort, but there was nothing else he could do, not really.

 

“Get some sleep, Sammy.”

 

“Will you stay here? I mean, sorry, if I was out of line, I just…”

 

Dean shook his head. “Of course. But you need your rest, okay? Sleep.”

 

Sam nodded, letting his head drop back down against Dean’s chest. He curled his long arms around Dean’s waist until their bodies were slotted perfectly together and their legs threaded smoothly like fitted puzzle pieces.

Dean fought sleep that night, opting instead to stay awake and watch over Sam. If anything was going to cause a recurrence of nightmares, this would be it, and the last thing he wanted was to be half dopey with sleep if Sam needed him.

But no nightmares came. Sam whimpered a few times in his sleep, gripping tighter, but nothing woke him further.

 

 

**March 7** **th** **, 2007 (Sam’s age: 23)**

By the time the clock read noon, Sam’s eyes fluttered open, his gaze darting until it landed on the amulet he’d given to Dean so many years ago, then slid up until he met Dean’s own sleepy gaze. “You didn’t rest much,” Sam whispered, his voice thick with sleep.

 

“Ah, I did enough,” Dean defended, but didn’t move or let go like Sam had expected he would.

 

“You’ve got bags under your eyes, and we haven’t moved… You didn’t sleep at all did you?”

 

“Wanted to make sure you didn’t have a nightmare,” Dean shrugged. Sam moved back then, forcing Dean to release his grip and sat up to pull off his sweat damp t-shirt with a grimace.

 

“You could’ve pushed me off, now we’re both drenched,” he complained, bringing the shirt to his nose, only to recoil at the smell.

 

“Clothes wash, Sammy, and so do people. You looked comfy.” Dean sat up, stretching his arms. “Jesus though, you’ve got a death grip on you.”

 

Sam flushed, “Sorry… Do you wanna shower?”

 

“Nah, you shower first,” Dean replied as he laid back to stretch his back more. Sam stood and dug in his duffel for his personals bag before heading into the bathroom.

Sam hurried through his shower, not wanting to use all the hot water before Dean could get a chance. He threw open the bathroom door and a rush of steam rolled out before he stepped out and looked at Dean, who glanced up from the notebook he was writing in.

 

“What’s up?” Sam asked.

 

“Nothin’… I got us breakfast,” Dean said, pushing the bag toward the empty chair across from him.

 

Sam grunted, digging in his duffel. “Thanks… Shower should still have hot water, I tried to be quick. We gotta make a laundromat run at some point,” he added, finally pulling out a pair of jeans and a passably clean shirt. Without thinking about his brother being in the same room, he pulled the towel off and stepped into his boxers.

 

After dressing Sam turned and met Dean’s gaze. Even from across the room he could see Dean’s blown pupils, and heat rushed through him when he realized that he had to be the cause of them. He played it off though, ignoring it for now, and sprawled into the chair across from Dean before he opened the bag.

 

“So, where are we heading?” Sam asked as he pulled out various foods and began to eat.

 

Dean shrugged and pushed his own food away to make room for Sam’s laptop. “I’ll look for something.”

 

Sam watched Dean from across the table with last night still fresh in his mind: the way Dean took care of him, listened to him, and refrained from teasing or tormenting him for showing weakness. That was the Dean he’d fallen in love with. It was too bad they could never go back to what they were before. No one knew they were brothers, save for Ellen and Bobby; it wouldn’t be that hard to hide.

 

That thought had crossed Sam’s mind last night amidst his grief over having to kill Madison, and he’d acted on it without thought, kissing Dean’s neck. Even through his shower and brushing his teeth, Sam swore he could still taste the salty sweet flavor that was uniquely his brother.

 

When Dean looked up, Sam’s tongue darted between his lips unconsciously before he met his eyes. Dean grinned over the top of the laptop. “Got something on my face?” he asked, seeing Sam’s intense stare.

 

“No, sorry, zoning out. Find something?”

 

“Let’s take a vacation,” Dean suggested, and Sam scowled,

 

“A vacation?” He snorted. “Yeah, right, Dean. And go where?”

 

“I don’t know. How about Vegas? Or Mexico. Or Los Angeles?”

 

Sam sighed softly and pushed his food to the side, pulling the laptop over. He began to type quickly.

 

“How about Los Angeles?” Sam suggested after a moment. Dean shrugged.

 

“Sounds good to me. I’m gonna shower. Find something fun.” Dean tossed the remainder of his food in the trash and headed into the bathroom.

 

As Sam watched him walk away, his stomach knotted in that pleasant burn he thought he’d never feel again. His eyes dropped to Dean’s ass fitted in jeans that hugged every curve just right.

 

When the bathroom door shut a breath of air punched out of Sam that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He relaxed his hands which had formed into fists while he had been staring at Dean, and slumped down into the chair.

 

Sam glanced at the bathroom door again, counting the seconds while debating with himself. Dean was an efficient person, so he knew he didn’t have long, but after a few moments of silence save for the water in the bathroom, he decided to be daring. Holding his breath for a moment, he reached for the buckle of his belt.

 

His cock was already hard when Sam pulled himself from the open zipper of his jeans. He barely glanced at the computer; he had every image he needed to come right at the forefront of his mind: Dean. He imagined how easy it would be to go into the bathroom and drop his jeans, lean over the sink and beg to be fucked, maybe even stretch himself open with Dean watching—give him a show until he couldn’t resist.

 

Spitting in his palm, Sam worked his hand quickly over his leaking cock, biting the meaty part of his other hand to keep quiet as he pictured another favorite scenario; he wanted nothing more than to slide under the table while Dean ate and help himself to his own kind of meal—a perfect mouthful of his big brother’s come.

 

Sam had to bite his fist to muffle the name that rolled off his tongue as he came—Dean. When his orgasm finally faded, he glanced down and grimaced at his come-covered shirt. He tugged it off quickly—the last thing Sam needed was Dean to see him like this—and rose, but was forced to lean against the table. When he was sure his legs would support his weight, he wiped himself clean with a tissue and tucked his softening cock back into his jeans. As he approached the bed and pulled out a clean shirt, an odd noise made him freeze.

 

Sam approached the bathroom door and placed his ear to it, his cheeks burning when he realized what he’d heard. Barely audible under the sound of the running water was Dean’s voice.

 

Sam could only pick up snippets of his words, but they went straight to his groin.  _ “Fuck—take it. Just like that. Yes… god, perfect ass _ — _ ”  _ Sam heard Dean’s  words stop for a moment before he began to grunt and shout—he was coming—Sam knew that noise from experience. He palmed his crotch, his own cock was trying to get interested again, and backed away from the door, tucking that new memory away for a later time.

 

Sam sat at the computer to begin researching a case, but his mind wandered to Dean in the shower. He could still perfectly remember the first time he’d heard—and seen—Dean come.

 

 

**October 15** **th** **, 1998 (Sam’s age: 15)**

_ “Can I put it in the back door?” _ Sam’s head whipped up from the book he’d been reading outside the hotel room.

 

Their dad had left them alone yet again, and Dean had found a cute brunette to bring home. Of course, that meant he’d banished Sam outside until he’d had his fill of her. Not that Sam minded; he hated hearing Dean screw random girls in the next room, but this was something Sam hadn’t heard his brother ask before.

 

Feeling guilty but too curious to resist, Sam turned his chair and peeked in through the crack in the curtains. From what Sam could make out through the dirty window, Dean was on his knees on the bed, completely nude. His cock was hard, jutting from between his legs. The girl was on the bed as well, and Sam’s stomach gave a little twist of jealousy when he saw her stroking Dean’s stiff cock as they kissed.  

 

“Will it hurt?” she asked.

 

“Of course not, Sammi. I’ll be gentle,” Dean promised and ran a hand through her hair, currently pulled back into a loose bun, giving it a short appearance.

 

Sam squinted in time to see the girl nod—Sammi; Sam thought it was weird that Dean would screw a girl with his name, but pushed the thought aside to focus on what was happening.

 

He watched Dean get off the bed and disappear from his view for a moment before returning with a condom and a bottle of what Sam knew to be lube. “Get on your knees for me, Sammi.”

 

“Want me to take my shirt off?” she asked as she complied with Dean’s command.

 

“Nah, just move your panties to the side, it’ll feel naughtier that way.”

 

Sam shifted in his chair and pulled off his hoodie to lie over his lap, a clear bulge visible in his sweatpants. He set the book on the ground and slipped a hand into his sweats, so glad he’d foregone boxers today. He wrapped his hand around his ever-thickening cock as he watched Dean push two fingers into the girl’s hole.

 

In their current position, Sam could easily picture himself in her place, wearing one of Dean’s baggy t-shirts with a pair of dirty panties pulled to the side. He knew he should feel guilty about imagining Dean’s fingers inside him, but the thought had his stomach in knots and his cock dribbling a thick line of precome.

 

Curious, Sam wet the fingers of his free hand with spit and slipped them into his pants as he slouched a little. He circled one wet finger around his hole, heat burning his cheeks when he heard Dean moan at the same moment, “Nice tight ass, Sammi. Can’t wait to be inside it.”

 

**March 7** **th** **, 2007 (Sam’s age: 23)**

The bathroom door’s creak pulled Sam from his thoughts. He sat up straighter as Dean emerged in a towel.

 

“Have a nice shower?” Sam asked in an attempt to be casual.

 

“Yeah,” Dean said, glancing at him curiously as he dug his clothes from his bag. “You okay, dude?”

 

“I’m great. I think I might have found a place to go,” Sam said before clearing his throat and typing quickly on the computer. He could feel Dean staring at him, but chose to ignore it and focused on finding a place in California that Dean could possibly enjoy while they worked a case.

 

When Dean didn’t look away, Sam rubbed his hand on the back of his neck, playing with the long hair there. “I, uh—What about Los Angeles? Could um—go see movie sets and stuff,” Sam stuttered. He knew there was no reason to feel scrutinized, but it was as if Dean  _ knew _ what he’d been doing and thinking about.

 

“Works for me. You sure you’re okay, Sammy?”

 

Sam looked up quickly, afraid something had given him away. “I’m fine, Dean. Just go put pants on.” He snapped his computer shut and flopped on the bed, snagging the remote and trying to distract himself by rapidly flipping through the channels.

 


	19. All Hell Breaks Loose (But I've Got You)

**May 2** **nd** **, 2007 (Sam’s age: 24)**

The steering wheel was sweat-slick under his palms and the leather bit deep grooves into his skin. His knuckles turned white with the force of his grip, tight to hide his shaking hands. Even his leg muscles were tense enough to ache from the steadily increasing pressure on the gas—eighty-eight, ninety, ninety-three.

 

Dean blinked the settling blur from his eyes and shook his head to clear the fog in his brain. Sweat dripped down his skin and tickled the hairs on his neck and cheeks as it left a cold, tacky feel that made Dean want to shower. The rotten egg smell of sulfur assaulted his nose on each inhale, burning his tongue and triggering a small gag whenever he licked his lips.

 

That demon bitch had better not have tricked him. A deal was a deal. His soul for his Sammy’s. He couldn’t live without Sam and he knew it already. He’d barely made it through when Sam had gone to Stanford; this was even worse.

 

The image of his baby brother, dead on the moth-eaten mattress, sent an alarming ache straight to Dean’s gut. The speedometer crept up to one hundred.

 

Dean barely remembered to pull the keys from the ignition of the Impala as he leapt out, skipping the first two steps on his way up the rickety porch and pushing open the front door.

 

“Sammy?” he shouted, rushing into the bedroom. His breath punched out of him when he saw Sam standing upright and grimacing, but a sick feeling crept to back into his stomach at the angry scar on Sam’s lower back. “Thank God,” he whispered, slumping against the doorframe for a moment.

 

“Hey…” Sam whispered, voice soft with pain. Dean’s heart jumped into his throat and he went forward, wrapping Sam in a bone-cracking hug. Sam hugged back, whimpering quietly.

 

“Ow, Dean.”

 

Dean pulled back, his eyes filled with tears barely held back. “Sorry, I’m sorry, I’m just—just happy to see you up and around, that’s all. Come on, sit down.” Dean grabbed Sam’s wrist and led him to the bed, sitting across from him on the chair he’d occupied for the last two days.

 

As they spoke, Dean’s heart swelled more and more from watching Sam, but the knot remained in his stomach. He’d almost lost Sam. They’d been dancing around what was really going on for the past two years, dancing around what was really happening with their emotions because both of them were too afraid of how the other would react to speak up for themselves.

 

Dean’s hands fisted in his lap as Sam spoke, fury in his voice, about the young soldier who’d attempted to kill him. He couldn’t risk that happening again. It took all he had to hold Sam back; he wanted Jake dead too… But not yet. Not until he could figure out how to talk to Sam.

 

He shot up when Sam attempted to leave. “You just woke up, alright? Let’s get you something to eat, huh? You want something to eat?” Sam’s shoulders slumped under Dean’s hands as he nodded, only now looking up to meet Dean’s eyes.

 

“I’m starving,” Dean continued after Sam’s affirmation. “Come on.” He slapped his palm affectionately over Sam’s chest and led him into the main dining area.

 

Sam snagged his wrist before he got very far. “Dean, I was scared, you know…”

 

“I know, Sammy.” Dean reached across his body, placing his hand over Sam’s.

 

“No, I—I know you don’t like talking about this, probably want to forget it happened, I’m sure, but I was scared that I was gonna die before I could tell you the truth.”

 

Dean hesitated and turned to fully face Sam once more. Maybe this would be easier than he thought it’d be. “The truth?”

 

“About us… How I feel.”

 

Dean nodded, readying himself for any number of things Sam could say at this point. “Well, why don’t you tell me? Then we can go get some dinner and get you better.” His words were measured, trying to give away no emotion. The silence stretched on until Dean had to meet Sam’s gaze.

 

“I miss you. I miss what we had when I first went to Stanford, I—I’m sorry if you wish it’d never happened, but I can’t regret it. I love you in so many ways, Dean. I owe you my life and I always will, and I just can’t keep going on in this stupid life without you knowing it.” Sam had barely stopped to breathe as he talked, and Dean could see his hands shaking just a little.

 

Without much thought, Dean reached up, the fingers of his left hand twining in Sam’s shaggy hair, the other hand slotting perfectly on Sam’s lower cheek and neck. He pulled Sam down, hesitating for a split second.

 

Sam went limp during the kiss, and Dean could feel his large hands scrambling for purchase on his back and shoulders. He held him up with no problems, angling them toward the mattress. He pulled back when he was forced to catch his breath.

 

“Don’t scare me like that again, please,” he whispered like a confession. Confusion crossed Sam’s face for a moment, but he nodded rather than questioning.

 

“I won’t, De. I won’t.”

 

Dean’s shoulders relaxed a little, but he still had fear gnawing at his gut, and guilt so deep rooted now that it almost felt natural. Dean glanced at the bed, all the color draining from his face at the amount of blood on the mattress.

 

“Here,” Sam offered, interpreting Dean’s expression correctly. He snagged his coat from where it’d fallen on the floor and laid it over the majority of the bloodstain. “Is that better?”

 

Sam, always the problem solver, always trying to make everything right. He grabbed Sam’s face and kissed him hard. “Are you sure you’re ready—“

 

“Shut up, Dean,” Sam said, sitting on the bed, his large hands wrapped around Dean’s hips, pulling him forward until his forehead rested on Dean’s stomach. “I’ve been ready to have you back for years now.”

 

“I meant with your back hurting,” Dean argued, letting Sam pull him completely onto his lap. His hands curled around Sam’s neck, fingers twisting through the familiar, though now longer, strands of hair there.

 

“It’s fine,” Sam breathed, sliding his hands around to Dean’s ass and into his jeans’ back pockets. Dean grunted and bucked up as Sam’s teeth grazed the sensitive skin of his neck, the tiny hints of pressure sending jolts of electricity down Dean’s spine. Twisting his fingers into Sam’s hair, Dean pulled him into a heated kiss, keeping their bodies moving in tandem.

 

“Please,” Dean whispered.

 

“Are you begging, De?”

 

Dean glared and tightened his grip in Sam’s hair before he jerked Sam’s head back to bare his smooth neck. It was his turn to tease, to make Sam feel the desperation he’d been feeling for what felt like hours. Dean locked his teeth over Sam’s adam’s apple, smirking against his skin at the shout that ripped out of Sam’s throat.

 

“I like that,” Sam continued despite his position, making it nearly impossible for Dean to bite where he wanted to. “If I’d known this was all it took to make you beg—“

 

“Shut up, Sammy,” Dean growled, giving up his attempts at nipping and biting Sam’s neck. Instead, he pushed off Sam’s lap and dropped down, his knees hitting the floor with a heavy thud. Placing his hands on Sam’s thighs, he moved them apart and settled in, lust burning like hellfire just under his skin. Sam wasn’t where he wanted him, though, so Dean reached up with one hand to press him down, forcing Sam to lean back onto his elbows and rock his hips forward.

 

“Dean—“

 

“Shut up,” Dean snapped, undoing Sam’s belt and jeans. He yanked them down, leaving light scratches on his hips.

 

Sam struggled to help, his breath coming in quick pants as he arched his hips and shifted. Dean stilled for a moment and stared up at Sam, who was a quivering, needy mess on the bed; it was exactly how Dean wanted him. His cock twitched, heavy between his legs, reminding him of what they both needed—and it wasn’t to stare at each other all night. He pulled Sam’s boots off with a muttered curse and shucked his jeans and boxers down after, catching his socks and rendering Sam bare from the hips down.

 

Only then did Dean relax, letting his shoulders slump a little as he ran his calloused palms over Sam’s shaking, bare thighs. Their eyes met over Sam’s body again.

 

“Sam, I—“

 

“I know, De.” Sam reached down, cupping Dean’s cheek in his large palm. “Come on, come up here,” he whispered, and Dean could read his expression of pure lust, so Dean shook his head, leaning forward instead. He lifted Sam’s cock, heavy and leaking on his stomach, and ran his tongue over the tip.

 

Sam’s entire body jerked upward at the simple touch. “De—“

 

Dean opened his mouth wider to let the silken head slip past his lips. He made small, smooth motions that had Sam writhing under him, but he kept his grip steady. The heady mix of sweat, dirt, and uniqueness of  _ Sam _ was going to his head. Dean moaned around Sam’s cock, earning another whine and a dribble of precome that he eagerly swallowed down. Salty and thick—it was a flavor Dean could get addicted to.

 

He pointed his tongue and flicked it rapidly over the underside of Sam’s cock head, hollowing his cheeks and sucking deeply in an attempt to draw more from Sam. Dissatisfied with the result, Dean worked more of Sam’s cock into his throat, not letting his eyes shut or stray from Sam’s face. Sam was a sight to behold like this—the view alone had Dean struggling not to come. Dean knew his breath was shaking and he could feel his heart attempting to break free of his ribcage.

 

Sam whimpered, arching his hips against Dean’s mouth. “Jesus, Dean… I’m gonna—“

 

Dean pulled off at the last moment, chest heaving and eyes watery. “Good?” Dean asked, his voice hoarse. Instead of replying, Sam pulled Dean up to kiss him hard as he laid back, pulling Dean over him and sliding his coat off his shoulders. The outer flannel came next, and Sam laughed a little as he tugged it off.

 

“You wear too many layers.”

 

“So do you,” Dean mumbled against Sam’s shoulder, where he was sucking a love bite. Sam arched his back, leaning against Dean’s mouth. Dean held the back of Sam’s neck, tilting him to the perfect angle as he worked his tongue and teeth over Sam’s salty skin. He pulled off once he could taste copper, licking his lips at the sight of the hickey marring Sam’s otherwise pristine neck.

 

“Now everyone will know you belong to someone,” Dean said when he’d finished admiring his handiwork.

 

“Right, thanks,” Sam answered sourly. “Just, shut up and finish taking your clothes off.”

 

“Bossy, aren’t you?”

 

“Please?” Sam added.

 

Dean gave him a rough kiss before he sat up and stripped the rest of his shirts off. He undid his belt, pulling it free of the loops and snapping it in Sam’s face, curious of his reaction. There was no mistaking the look that crossed Sam’s face when he did: his widening pupils, his tongue darting across his swollen bottom lip, and his shoulders tensing in preparation for something. Dean smirked, filing that away for later use—tonight wasn’t going to be fucking; he already wasn’t going to last long. He tossed the belt to the decrepit wooden floor with a clank.

 

Sam sat up, kissing Dean before tugging his shirt off; Dean could see his fingers shaking so much that he had to try three times before finally managing the top button. The others followed quickly while Dean rose to his feet, losing his jeans and shorts.

 

He stood in front of Sam for a moment, his mind drifting back to their first time when he had been standing wet and nude while Sam fucked himself with his fingers.

 

Sam wiggled back on the bed and spread his legs while Dean turned. 

 

With a grunt, he managed to snag his duffel bag and dug in it quickly. Dean withdrew a small bottle of lube after what felt like an eternity, grinned in relief, and turned to face Sam, who licked his lips as he reached for it.

 

“No,” Dean whispered. He crawled on to the bed and opened the bottle. “Let me this time.” He paused, waiting for Sam’s nod of confirmation. When he got it, he poured some of the sticky lube onto his fingers, rubbing them together to warm it before circling Sam’s entrance.

 

Sam shuddered, canting his hips up toward Dean, who kissed his shaking stomach. “Relax, Sammy. I got you.”

 

“You always got me, Dean,” Sam said in a breathy voice, his eyes slipping shut. “I know you always got me.”

 

Dean grimaced at the pain that wracked through his heart at those simple words. To distract himself, he pressed his lips to Sam’s thigh at the same moment he pressed a finger into his tight heat.

 

“Just relax for me, Sam,” he repeated, rubbing his free hand along Sam’s inner thigh. “You haven’t done this since—“

 

“No. I mean, Jess—” Sam shrugged a little, opening his eyes to look down at him. “We’d screw around like that sometimes, but… No one since her. It never felt right doing it with anyone but you.”

 

Dean grinned at Sam’s answer, pressing his lips against Sam’s hipbone as he worked his finger deeper. Sam hissed, arching his back.

 

“Hey, your back okay?” Dean worried.

 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay.” Sam answered, nodding. He reached down, running his fingers through Dean’s short hair. “Keep going.”

 

Dean nodded, withdrawing his finger and pushing two in. Sam responded immediately, his back rolled upward and his heels dug into the mattress.

 

“God, Dean, it’s perfect,” he moaned. Dean leaned forward and kissed up the underside of his cock. He opened his mouth and wrapped his lips around Sam’s leaking tip. “Fuck, De,” Sam panted, fisting Dean’s short hair in both of his hands.

 

“Don’t rip my hair out, you ass,” Dean grunted, pulling away. There was an urge to boss Sam around a little, but it was undermined every second by how his heart swelled with love and need for him.

 

“Please, Dean,” Sam breathed.

 

“Please what?” Dean teased when Sam’s fingers tightened on his scalp again.

 

“Put your mouth back on me.”

 

Dean smirked, lifting his head to free it from Sam’s grip before leaning back down, kissing over his thigh. “Like this?” he mumbled against the smooth skin. Sam whined, grabbing for his head again. He moved quickly, kissing over Sam’s balls. “Here?”

 

“Damnit, Dean!” Sam shouted, arching his hips up. Dean moved up, pushing a third finger in. He gripped Sam’s erection with his free hand, tilting it up and wrapping his lips around the tip once more.

 

A shout ripped from Sam’s throat as he began to fuck himself further onto Dean’s fingers. Dean gagged when the motion caused Sam to force his cock deeper into Dean’s mouth. He shoved Sam’s hip down with his free hand, pulling off. “Jesus Sammy, warn a guy.”

 

Sam flushed. “Sorry, De, it won’t happen again.”

 

“Hey, I’ll deep throat you, just ask first.” He took Sam back into his mouth.

 

Dean worked Sam’s hole open with a practiced ease, distracting from any discomfort with a just-as-efficient mouth and tongue. Dean was pleased to see that Sam was a quivering mess by the time he had three fingers into him: his hips jerking and writhing on the creaky mattress, his fingers digging into Dean’s scalp, and how he was unable to say more than a single word except for ‘Dean’.

 

Dean allowed Sam to drag him up the length of his body, kissing him with everything he had, and pulled his fingers free at the same moment he freed his mouth from Sam’s.

 

“Ready, baby brother?” he asked as he stroked back Sam’s sweat-damp hair with his clean hand.

 

Sam gave a nod of confirmation, sliding into a more comfortable position and spreading his legs wider.

 

“If your back starts to hurt or anything, lemme know, yeah?” Dean worked a thick glob of lubricant over his cock.

 

“You know I will… Please, Dean. I’m ready. I’ll be okay.”

 

Dean had forgotten how much he’d missed Sam’s eager attitude. He lined himself up to Sam’s center and locked their gazes.

 

As he pressed home, Sam lifted his midsection from the bed, his eyelashes fluttering over his cheeks as he opened his mouth in a silent gasp. Dean groaned, his fingers tightening on Sam’s thighs.

 

“Jesus, Sammy, I’m not gonna last very long…” he panted, and Sam let out a long, low moan.

 

“Dean, I… I can’t—”

 

Dean froze, his entire body shaking with the effort. “Is it too much? I can stop.” He shifted, sliding his hips backwards before Sam’s hands clamped down on his ass.

 

“Don’t you dare. Please,” Sam gasped, his eyes lust-blown as he looked up at Dean before he pulled Dean against himself, forcing him deeper.

 

“I—I can’t be with anyone but you, Dean. Please don’t ever ask me to.” Sam’s voice was soft, but he kept eye contact. Dean’s heart jumped at Sam’s plea.

 

“Just you and me, Sammy. No one else, okay? I won’t ever let anything happen to you,” Dean whispered, tracing his thumb along Sam’s cheekbone.

 

Sam nodded. “Thank you, De. I love you,” he breathed, curving his neck up to whisper the words against Dean’s lips.

 

“Me too, Sammy,” he responded, shifting to leave feather-light kisses over Sam’s face as he pushed the last few inches home. Dean stilled, allowing Sam to become accustomed to the intrusion. He let his teeth and tongue flick over Sam’s earlobe, nuzzling behind his ear and kissing down the curve of his shaking shoulders to calm him.

 

After a while, Sam whined, canting his hips toward Dean. “Come on,” he breathed against Dean’s ear, his fingers curling into his hair. “Take me, big brother. Please, I missed you so much.”

 

Dean found it impossible to catch his breath for a moment, a low moan rumbling from his chest. Sam hooked his legs around Dean’s middle, rotating his hips up and in a circle as best he could with his back. Dean shuddered at the tight feeling of Sam’s hole fluttering and clenching around him like it was  trying to take him deeper.

 

“Sam,” Dean managed a single word before he gave in, shifting up on his palms and picking up a gentle pace. Sam moaned underneath him, writhing and bucking his hips against Dean’s thrusts.

 

Time slipped by; it felt like seconds and hours at the same instant when their bodies were connected in this way. Dean saw nothing but Sam, who had his  eyes squeezed shut, his kiss-swollen lips parted, and who was chanting Dean’s name like a prayer.

 

Sam’s hands were everywhere at once, pulling Dean’s hair and gripping the tense muscles of his back. Their bodies slotted perfectly together and Sam’s strong legs were wrapped around Dean’s hips, holding him close. The drag of his cock against Sam’s tight hole overwhelmed Dean, causing sparks to white out his vision.

 

Dean’s heart swelled. Sam was his. He could feel the shift in their relationship as they made love.

 

Dean shuddered, dropping his forehead onto Sam’s shoulder.

 

“Sam—Sammy, I’m gonna—” he panted, his voice shaking and stopping with the effort.

 

“Dean. Dean, yes, please!” Sam answered quickly, gripping Dean’s ass and thrusting his hips up in time with Dean’s. Dean bit his lip, moving back to push deeper. He grasped Sam’s cock and began to stroke in time with his movements.

 

Sam shouted Dean’s name, arching high off the bed as he came. Dean was awed to silence as he watched his little brother come, his own orgasm riding right on the heels of Sam’s.

 

The two lay side by side on the dirty mattress for a long time. Neither of them spoke even after their breathing and heartbeats had returned to a regular pace. Dean’s leg was thrown over Sam’s hips, and he didn’t seem to mind that; to any regular observer, they were most definitely cuddling.

 

Dean’s eyes were shut, but he wasn’t sleeping. He was remembering their lives so far and all of the things that led them to this point: the touches, the smiles, and the jokes that weren’t quite brotherly. Maybe it was wrong, but it felt inevitable. No matter how Dean spun the memories in his head, or how many different angles he tried, it always brought him to this point.

 

A loud rumble from Sam’s stomach pulled Dean out of his reverie. He ran the tips of his fingers over Sam’s arm. Sam looked over at him, still thoroughly fucked out. “Wanna dress? Get some food? We can make a plan about what to do now.”

 

Dean grunted, rolling onto his stomach and flinging his arm over Sam’s chest. “Don’t wanna move,” he mumbled.

 

“Even for pizza?” Sam offered, and Dean lifted his head.

 

“You wanna go get a pizza? You up for that with your back?”

 

“My back feels fine now. I’d love to go.”

 

Dean sat up, wiggling off the bed and into his clothes. “I’m comin’ with. You’re not going anywhere alone,” he said as he pulled on his jeans.

 

Sam rose, pulling on his own clothes as he replied, “I think I can manage driving to a pizza shop, Dean.”

 

“Nope. I’m coming with. But, I will let you drive.”

 

“Oh yeah?”

 

Dean fished his keys from his pocket and held them up in front of Sam’s face. “Sure. Just don’t kill us.”

 

Sam snagged the keys from Dean and pocketing them before tugging on his shoes.

 

Dean wrapped his arm around Sam as they walked out of the old, creaky house together. As he slid into the car next to his brother, their movements perfectly in sync, he knew that they’d stay together no matter what. Because, twenty-three and a half years ago, when Sam was pushed into Dean’s arms, an unconscious decision was made: any road they chose to take would lead right back to one another.

 


	20. Art Post

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Chapter 13 Title Unedited


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